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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29595741">Scattered</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tophats_and_Teacups/pseuds/Tophats_and_Teacups'>Tophats_and_Teacups</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Unforeseen Lives [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Age Difference, Angst, Character Death, Complete, F/M, Hand Jobs, Heterosexual Sex, Masturbation, Oral Sex, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Vaginal Fingering</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-16 01:41:31</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>81,358</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29595741</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tophats_and_Teacups/pseuds/Tophats_and_Teacups</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry Potter is dead. The Order of the Phoenix is scattered to the wind, and Hermione Granger stumbles across the dying Slytherin who betrayed them all. Sparks will fly as she learns to survive the darkening world, and discovers truths about Severus Snape that both frighten and inflame.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Hermione Granger/Severus Snape</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Unforeseen Lives [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/2174358</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>63</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>76</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Harry Potter is Dead</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Hermione Granger had never felt such heartbreak in her life. Even obliviating her parents, and hiding them off in Australia hadn’t been as bad as this. Tears flooded down her face as she stared at Hagrid’s sobbing mass, and the small dark haired boy clutched in his arms. Harry had snuck off after the battle, and was dead. She couldn’t believe it. She sank to her knees, feeling her own breath hitch with cries of horror.</p>
<p>The swarm of Death Eaters that followed, forcing Hagrid forward through his misery, were cheering, celebrating the death of the Chosen One.</p>
<p>“No…” Hermione heard Ron’s soft whisper. He took a few steps forward, breaking away from the mass of those protecting Hogwarts. Hermione couldn’t pull her eyes away from Harry’s limp body, unable to really focus through her tears.</p>
<p>“Harry! HARRY!” Ginny was screaming, her voice cracking, as a loud clamor rose behind them, the whole of Hogwarts screaming at the death of their hero. Hermione could barely make out the shape of Voldemort right in front of them, and wiped at her face, feeling panic start to rise. She needed to be strong. Unhindered by tears. She could cry later.</p>
<p>She looked up again, hearing Voldemort’s voice as he waxed on about his victory, but she couldn’t make out the words, her eyes still on Harry. He was moving. He wasn’t dead! She gasped involuntarily as he jumped from Hagrid’s arms, yanking his wand out of his robe. All eyes seemed to go to him, as he pointed his wand at the giant snake coiled around Voldemort’s shoulders. Voldemort turned, lifting his own wand, a half a moment too late.</p>
<p>“<i>Depulso</i>!” Harry shouted, sending the snake flying from Voldemort’s body, and to the feet of the cheering crowd of students, and teachers. Hermione grabbed for it, at the same time as three others, pulling the basilisk fang she’d kept, out of her pocket, and stabbing quickly into the head of the snake, before it had a chance to strike anyone. There was a flash of green as the snake seemed to scream, and die, and the bushy haired teen looked up to see Harry falling to the ground, his face slack, his eyes glazed. Voldemort had killed him, for a third time, in the split second Nagini had gone flying.</p>
<p>The Chosen One slumped to the ground, amidst a renewed wave of shrieks, and cries. He wouldn’t be getting up again, and they all seemed to realize this at the same time, staring down at his still-opened eyes, and unchanging face. He’d gotten them the last horcrux to kill, and sacrificed himself, yet again. There was a stampeding sound, and Hermione pushed herself to her feet, her eyes catching sight of Ron, his mouth open in a scream, as he charged at the Dark Lord, his wand raised, his face full of fury.</p>
<p>“Ron, NO!” Hermione screamed as Voldemort smiled a sickening grin, and blocked the green jet of light that shot from Ron’s wand easily, as a Death Eater stepped in to defend their master, knocking Ron to the ground with a hex, and froze him in place with a full body bind. Hermione was halfway to him when she realized others were being taken in the same fashion. Some were running, throwing shield charms up as they went, trying madly to escape, into the castle, the forest, around the mass of Death Eaters toward the gate. So many falling, so many fleeing. She ran, glancing back at Ron on the ground, swearing to herself that she’d save him.</p>
<p>She couldn’t do that now. But she would. They hadn’t killed him. There was hope. She ran away from the others, heading into the grounds, knowing that the masses of stampeding people were more dangerous than the open field of grass. She heard a voice yell behind her, and waved her wand in a panic, shielding her back from a hex, and veering sideways, in case her charm didn’t hold. She saw the whomping willow just ahead, and ran faster, knowing it led to the shrieking shack. She could apparate away from there. She raised her wand in front of her, lifting a stone, and sending it flying into the stilling knot on the base of the flailing tree. The tree froze, and she slid quickly into the hole, scrambling forward on her hands and knees, her mind working quickly, pushing her despair down, and focusing on freedom. She could hear someone entering the tunnel behind her, and heard a few muttered expletives from a male’s voice. Whoever’d been chasing her was nowhere near as small as she was, and was getting stuck. Neither could use their wands in the tight space, and Hermione scrambled faster, her hands scraping along the ground, her hair catching at an occasional exposed root, or bit of rock.</p>
<p>She finally scrambled out of the tunnel, into the shack, and froze, her eyes locked on the limp body of her professor. She’d forgotten that Snape had been killed here, his form still bleeding on the floor.</p>
<p>The noise from the tunnel behind her jolted her out of her shock, and she pointed at the small opening with her wand.</p>
<p>“<i>Bombarda</i>!” She shouted, causing the hole to explode, and fall in on itself, blocking the entrance.</p>
<p>A gurgled gasping sound caught her attention, and she spun on her heel to see Professor Snape’s chest rise with breath, as the sound repeated. His fingers twitched at the ground, and she realized with a shock that he was still alive.</p>
<p>“Oh no, Professor.” She said, the sight of him driving all thoughts of his service to the Dark Lord from her mind. He needed help, and she’d seen far too much death that night already. She collapsed next to him, inspecting the still seeping wound on his neck. He’d lost a lot of blood.</p>
<p>“Professor, can you hear me?” She asked, picking his wand up off the floor, and sliding it into her back pocket. The man didn’t move, and she felt a moment of panic at his still chest, before another gurgling breath filled his lungs.</p>
<p>“<i>Anapneo</i>!” She pointed her wand at his throat, and was glad to hear his next breath clearer, with no liquid sound. She looked from his blank, unconscious, yet open eyes, to his tattered neck. She had no idea how to heal this. Was it safe to Apparate him in such a condition?</p>
<p>“Professor Snape, I need your help. Professor Snape? Please wake up!” She shook his shoulder, and gently patted his face, bringing an almost startled gasp from him as his eyes blearily focused on her face.</p>
<p>“Ho- Home.” He finally managed to say, and Hermione nodded, grabbing his shoulder tightly, and disappearing with a loud POP.</p>
<p>The air was squished from her lungs, and she landed in her parent’s dark living room. The house was vacant, and she looked back to Snape’s face, wondering what use her home was. She groaned, realizing that he’d meant <i>his</i> home. She felt like a dunce, and took hold of his shoulder again, shaking slightly.</p>
<p>“Professor, I don’t know where your home is.” She admitted, feeling slightly bad for bringing his eyes back into focus. They held pain, and confusion. Not something she’d ever seen on his face before. It made him seem more human, and he scrunched his face, wincing slightly.</p>
<p>“Cokeworth.” He choked out, and Hermione nodded, thinking hard of the place she’d seen photos of a few times. They reappeared in a dark alley, and she quickly disillusioned her bleeding Professor, looking around for any witnesses. The alley was deserted, and she apologized quietly, gently lifting the Professor into the air, and hovering him along behind her, as she approached the mouth of the alley.</p>
<p>“Where, now, Professor?” She asked in a whisper, turning when she got no answer. His eyes had closed, and he looked paler than ever. “Professor!” She shook him gently, and his eyes came open.</p>
<p>“Spinner’s End.” he mumbled, his eyes falling back shut, and she nodded, tiptoeing out of the alley, and hiding her wand behind her back keeping her camouflaged professor aloft. She headed down one road, trying to move quickly, and not draw attention, knowing she looked like she’d just survived a war. She had.</p>
<p>“Hey now, what’re you doing, slinking around?” A voice called from a doorway. She turned, and saw the form of a fat, greasy man leaning out of his front door, looking at her suspiciously.</p>
<p>“I’m trying to find Spinner’s End.” She said, putting on her most pitiful expression. “I’ve gotten lost, and fell in an alley.” She tried to explain her appearance away. He studied her for a moment, and pointed a finger down the bleak looking road.</p>
<p>“That way, to the left. You sure you’re okay? You look kinda…”</p>
<p>“<i>Obliviate!</i>” She pointed her wand at him, and hurried off down the street, following his directions. She moved at nearly a run, knowing Snape’s time was incredibly limited. He could stop breathing at any moment. Snape’s limp form floated behind her easily, and she rounded a corner seeing a line of pitiful houses, on a pitiful street, next to a pitiful river. She hurried down it, casting charms, looking for a magically protected one. She knew his house would be warded. She just had to find it. There! The slight glimmer of her charm bouncing off a ward had her veering to the right, and magically unlocking the door, entering, and letting Snape float in after her. She slammed the door closed, and set up a few quick barriers of her own, before slapping the man awake again.</p>
<p>“We’re here, what now?” She asked, her mind cataloguing everything in the room as she looked around. Books, rickety furniture. Dusty, worn carpets.</p>
<p>“Potion… Cabinet…” Snape mumbled, his hand lifting slightly to point at a door. She hurried to it, only to find it locked.</p>
<p>“<i>Alohamora!</i>” She tried, but it remained locked.</p>
<p>“<i>Signus Vox</i>.” Snape’s voice rasped, and the cabinet doors popped open, revealing a stash of bottles, vials, and flasks.</p>
<p>“Which one?” She asked, riffling through them. None were labeled, but she identified a few by their look alone.</p>
<p>“Green. Third down, twelfth right.” He answered, his voice nearly inaudible, his breaths barely moving his chest at all. She pulled it out, and waved her wand, setting him gently on the floor as she uncorked it.</p>
<p>“All.” He mumbled as she opened her mouth, cutting her off. She held it to his lips, and poured it slowly into his mouth, pausing to let him breathe, and keeping at it until the bottle was emptied.</p>
<p>“Blood-red, top right.” he said, and she hopped up obediently, grabbing the proper one. It was a blood-replenishing potion, and she smiled with relief, crouching down next to him, and holding this, too, against his lips. He drank a bit more quickly, color flooding his pale skin as the potion took effect.</p>
<p>“Yellow, right next to it, over the wound.” Snape said, his eyes closing, and fluttering open, as though he was trying to stay awake. Hermione stood, and grabbed the dark yellow potion from next to the empty space the red one had left, and uncorked it, sniffing. Dittany, and an almost smoky smell. She hesitated for a moment, before pouring the potion directly on his neck, the thick syrupy liquid drizzling slowly over the slashes, and blood.</p>
<p>“Ahh!” Snape grunted, his face scrunching in pain. Hermione paused, lifting the bottle away, worried, and looking into his still-pale face.</p>
<p>“Don’t stop, you stupid girl!” He hissed, glaring up at her. She jumped slightly, and kept pouring, doing her best to ignore the hissing that came from his mouth, and the way his face twisted. Smoke was rising from the potion where it touched his skin, and it smelled rather singed. She watched the yellow liquid seep into his neck, stitching the skin back together, and sealing off the damage.</p>
<p>“Stop when it’s covered.” Snape managed to bite out, the potions effects making him sound more alive, and stronger. He was no longer on the verge of death.</p>
<p>“What was that green potion?” She asked warily, finally pulling the bottle away, and recorking it. His wounds were sealed, and sizzling, and he seemed to be over the worst pain.</p>
<p>“Antidote for Nagini’s venom.” He said, opening his eyes, and piercing her with a black stare. “What happened?”</p>
<p>“Harry died. Nagini’s destroyed. Everyone scattered. Some were captured.” She said, feeling the grief wash over her anew. Now that Snape was on the mend, her mind started going back to the images her panic had pushed away. She felt tears stinging her eyes again.</p>
<p>“Help me up.” He ordered. The shock of that order brought her back to the black stare.</p>
<p>“Professor, no! You can’t move!” She argued, watching as he tried, regardless, his hands pushing at the floor, and lifting his head.</p>
<p>“I have to make… More blood-replenishing potion.” He said, his eyes unfocusing as he winced, and fell back to the floor.</p>
<p>“I can make it.” She said, and pulled her wand from her pocket, lifting him into the air. “Where’s your bed? You should rest.” She asked, and followed his instructions, lifting him carefully up a flight of stairs, and into a small bedroom.</p>
<p>“Why are you helping me, Granger?” He asked suspiciously, as she pulled the sheets over his body. She paused at the door of the room, thinking on it a moment.</p>
<p>“Enough people died tonight.” She finally said, and he watched her go, the suspicion never leaving his eyes as he glared after her.</p>
<p>Hermione closed the door behind her, and put up another ward, not wanting him to surprise and disarm her while she brewed the potion he needed. She didn’t trust him, even if she’d saved him. All she could hope for was that she somehow felt less terrible, by saving one life, even if it was the life of a miserable villain.</p>
<p>She searched the shelves, discovering them organized alphabetically, and quickly found the book she’d need, opening it, and searching quickly for the blood-replenishing potion. She held her finger in the page, and searched the house, looking for traps, hidden Death-Eaters, and the potion’s room. She found only the latter, and got to work, using the potion to blank her mind again. She wasn’t ready to think just yet. She could think later. Come up with a plan. For now, she had a job to do.</p>
<p>Three hours later, the potion boiled softly in it’s cauldron, and she gave it a last stir, extinguishing the flames, and scooping a glassful out, carrying it up the stairs.</p>
<p>“Professor?” She knocked on the door, and got no answer. She opened it slightly, and saw he was still in the bed, his face slack, one arm hanging off the narrow mattress. She approached, and tapped his hand gently, waking him.</p>
<p>“Wha-” He looked around dazedly, taking in the bushy-haired girl, his room, and the glass in her hand. He sat up slightly, groaning, but saying nothing as she put an arm behind his shoulders, and helped him up.</p>
<p>“You need to drink this.” She said, holding it out to him. His eyes focused more, and narrowed. He sniffed it, and tested a sip, seeing if she’d done it right, before downing the whole glass.</p>
<p>“I’ll need another in an hour.” He said, and flopped back down, his eyes closing.</p>
<p>“Do you need anything else?” She asked, wondering if there was some other potion she’d need to brew.</p>
<p>“My wand.” He said, eyeing her pointedly. He’d seen it in her pocket.</p>
<p>“No.” She said, straightening her spine, and backing away. “I may be helping you, but you’re still the enemy.”</p>
<p>“I’m not.” He breathed, his eyes barely able to stay open as he argued.</p>
<p>“We’ll see.” She countered, and snapped the door shut, leaving him to rest more. What was she going to do when he got better? Let him go back to Voldemort? Hex him to the bed permanently? She didn’t know. And she didn’t know how long it would take for him to get better. Somehow, she hoped it would take a while, so she wouldn’t have to decide, until she’d had plenty of time to come up with a plan.</p>
<p>She hurried back to the stone room and bottled a few servings of the potion she’d made, leaving the last of it in the cauldron, to use later. In the meantime, she should wash up. Staying filthy did no one any good.</p>
<p>She found her way easily to the meagre bathroom, and began filling the tub, locking, and warding the door before pulling her clothes off, and stepping in. The water was almost too-warm, but she sat in it, leaving Snape’s wand on the counter, and keeping her own on the edge of the bath. She hugged her knees as the tub filled around her, the warmth not reaching her core as she finally let the grief, and pain of it all wash over her.</p>
<p>She sobbed into her arms, tears spilling down her face as she remembered Harry’s slack face as he was killed, again. There was no way he would get a third free pass to overcome the killing curse. She saw Lavender’s ravaged body, Fred’s serene face as George sobbed over him. Ron, overcome, on the ground. Who knew what his fate would be? Death, or torture, most likely. She cried harder, thinking of her sweet Ron, writhing under the Cruciatus curse. She’d just, finally, kissed him for the first time, and he was snatched away so soon.</p>
<p>She’d felt hope like none other when Harry had jumped from Hagrid’s arm, wand aloft, but to have him snatched away too, so quickly, was cruel. She hoped Ginny had made it out safely. And the other Weasley’s. And Luna, and Neville. She had to first find out who’d been caught. Then find those that hadn’t. The Weasley’s first, she decided, rinsing her face, and trying to pull herself together, as the water grew cold. Harry was gone, but there was still hope. They hadn’t captured everyone. She would head the Order herself, if she had to. She wasn’t going to let that evil snake win. He’d taken Harry, and Ron, and so many others. But he had no more horcruxes. He was vulnerable. Would he make more? Would he find new precious objects to do it with? How long did she have before he started building his defenses back up?</p>
<p>Maybe Snape would know. Voldemort had tried to kill him, maybe he’d finally change sides for good, she thought. It was worth a shot, and she had to try.</p>
<p>She finished washing, and pulled the plug, stepping from the bath, finding a clean white towel under the sink. It smelled a bit dusty, but she figured the whole house had been left alone while Snape ruled Hogwarts. She pulled a brush through her damp hair, trying not to contemplate the grease it might hold from Snape’s head.</p>
<p>She set her clothes in the tub, and hit them with <i>scourgify</i>, rinsing them, and drying them magically, before pulling them back on. She snatched Snape’s wand from the counter, and went to give him his next dose of potion.</p>
<p>He was asleep again when she entered, and she woke him silently, handing him the glass, and leaving without saying a word. The potion seemed to be working wonders, and his face was slightly pink-tinged, more color than she’d ever seen on it before.</p>
<p>She washed the glass out in the tiny kitchen, and set it to dry, enjoying doing the task by hand, remembering snippets of her childhood. She desperately wanted to be a little girl again, free from war and heartache. She sighed, and moved into the sitting room, plopping on the comfiest looking chair she could find, and curling her legs in. The sun was rising steadily, seeping light through the dirty looking windows, but not really brightening the room any. It seemed to just highlight the dust on everything, and in the air. She watched it swirl around in a stream of wan sunlight, her eyes shutting longer and longer every time she blinked.</p>
<p>A loud thud woke her from sleep, and she sat straight up, wondering what had made the noise. She didn’t have long to wonder before another loud bang echoed through the house. The door was being bombarded with spells. They’d found her. She scrambled to the door, casting a few more strengthening charms at it, and ran back through the sitting room, and up the stairs. She burst into Snape’s room, and found him already awake, sitting up, looking flushed, and worried.</p>
<p>“Death Eaters.” She hissed, reaching for him.</p>
<p>“We can’t apparate from inside.” He said, and she groaned.</p>
<p>“Of <i>course</i> not!” She vented, grabbing his arm, and wrapping it around her shoulders. “Try anything, and I’ll jinx you.” She warned, pointing her wand tip at him, even as she pulled him carefully from the room, and down the stairs. She paused, trying to determine how to get out. They were at the door, obviously.</p>
<p>“Wait, grab the potions!” He gestured to his locked cabinet, but she shook her head.</p>
<p>“No time. They’ll be in any second.” She pointed her wand at the back wall of the sitting room, and blew a hole through it. She didn’t bother apologizing for the books she’d gone through while making the hole, knowing their lives were more valuable than any book he had. She pulled him through the settling dust of the explosion, and heard the door finally explode inward.</p>
<p>“I heard it!” A shrill voice called, peeved, as they came into the sitting room, to see the hole blown in the wall. “They’re getting away! Catch them!” It was Bellatrix, and she aimed a curse at the murky duo hobbling farther into the back alley behind the house, trying to escape the anti-Apparation jinx.</p>
<p>“Here!” Snape ordered, and Hermione turned, seeing a jet of red heading toward her through the smoke and dust, as she was pulled into a vice of magic. She took a deep gasping breath as soon as they landed in her parent’s living room again. Snape sank to the floor as she released him, adrenaline surging through her veins.</p>
<p>“I don’t think they saw us.” Snape gasped, looking relieved, and nearly red-faced.</p>
<p>“Of course they saw us! She nearly stunned us!” Hermione shot back, sinking into the couch, and trying to calm her racing heart.</p>
<p>“I mean, I don’t think they knew it was us.” Snape fixed her with a nasty glare. “If Bellatrix knew I was alive, and you were helping me, she would have been aiming to kill, not stun. Understand?”</p>
<p>Hermione nodded, feeling her cheeks heat at his tone. As though she were a first year who’d failed to grasp his class. The sweat on his brow, and his labored breathing caught her attention before she could get riled, and she moved forward, touching his forehead gingerly.</p>
<p>“You’re burning!” She gasped, and jumped to her feet, pulling him upright, and leading him toward her parents’ room. “It feels like you’ve got an awful fever!”</p>
<p>“Hmph.” Was the only answer she got as she lay him in the bed and ran to the bathroom, grabbing pills and a glass of water.</p>
<p>“Here, take these.” She offered them to him.</p>
<p>“No. We should have grabbed those potions.” He growled blame clear in his voice.</p>
<p>“Well, we didn’t, so you’ll have to make do. Take them!” She ordered, slapping them into his hand, and pushing the water into his other, glaring at him, daring him to refuse. He popped them in his mouth with a grimace, and took a swig of the water, swallowing, and trying to hand it back.</p>
<p>“Keep drinking. You’ll need lots of water.” She said, and he glared, taking another gulp before setting it on the night stand. She left him to rest, and went to the kitchen, opening the cabinets, searching for something to eat. They both needed food, and energy. She found mostly canned food, and poured two cans of soup into two bowls, heating them to steaming with her wand, before plopping a spoon in each.</p>
<p>“Here, eat.” She ordered, setting the soup down on the bedside table, and leaving again, to eat her own in peace. And in the dark. The electricity to the house had been cancelled, as had the heat, and water. She’d have to use magic for anything she needed. She sighed, and looked around, feeling a pang of sadness at the thought of her parents. She’d sent them away, but hadn’t been able to let the house go. It was a hope that one day she’d be able to bring them back. After the war, after the never ending terror.</p>
<p>She waved her wand, cleaning the empty bowl, not even having tasted the soup she’d eaten. Probably for the best, since it was usually metallic flavored. She went to fetch Snape’s bowl, and washed it, too, tiptoeing in and out of the room as he slept, sweat still beading on his brow. After she finished, she crept back in, and felt his forehead again. Still burning up. The dark yellow Dittany mixture was fading, seeming to soak right into his skin, leaving behind dark red patches on his neck. She leaned closer, wondering if it was supposed to do that. It looked… infected. She pressed a gentle finger to the flesh, feeling the heat, and swelling confirm her worry. The bite had gotten an infection. And the potions had done nothing to stop it.</p>
<p>“Professor…” She nudged him, and he groaned, his face scrunching in displeasure. “Professor, The bite’s infected.” She said, hoping to catch his attention. He’d know how to fix it.</p>
<p>“Mm.” He mumbled, his face smoothing out, and his eyes opening. “What?” He asked groggily, his eyes barely focused on her.</p>
<p>“Your neck looks infected.” She said, and he smiled wanly at her, his features nearly unrecognizable in the expression.</p>
<p>“So?” He said, as though trying to play it off as nothing.</p>
<p>“So, you need help. I don’t have anything to stop an infection!” She said, and he seemed more lucid for a moment.</p>
<p>“No. No one can know.” He said, grabbing her wrist, and looking suddenly desperate. “No one can see us.”</p>
<p>“Alright… I’ll… figure something out.” She said, and pulled her wrist from his grasp. Even his hands were hot, and clammy.</p>
<p>“Be careful.” He murmured, his eyes closing again. Hermione felt her heart stutter as his face smoothed back out. Was he delirious, too? She stood, and paced in the living room, trying to figure out a solution. She needed penicillin. Muggles wouldn’t recognize her, but wizards could be anywhere.</p>
<p>She rifled through her drawers, pulling out a wide-brimmed hat, and a pair of her mother’s wide sunglasses, pulling her hair into a braid, before glamouring it a light blonde. No one should suspect her. She changed her clothes, and grabbed her purse, trying to look as casual as she could, before setting up layers upon layers of wards, first Snape’s, and then the front door. She should have plenty of time to leave, and come back. She set a charm over the whole building, to alert her if anyone apparated in, and finally, apparated away, to the next town’s pharmacy. She went in, and walked up to the empty counter, glad that there was no line, and no one around to stare.</p>
<p>“What can I do for you today?” The woman who walked up to the other side of the counter asked, and Hermione slipped her wand from her jacket.</p>
<p>“<i>Imperio</i>.” She muttered, flicking her wand at the dark haired woman, and feeling guilty as the woman’s face went slack.</p>
<p>“I need something to fight infection.” Hermione told the woman.</p>
<p>“Alright.” the woman offered a dazed smile, and wandered off, shuffling through shelves for a moment, before coming back, with a rattling bottle. “Here you are, ma’am.” She handed the pills over easily, and Hermione muttered a ‘thank you’, keeping the curse in place until after she’d left. She felt her stomach twist with remorse over controlling the woman like that, but she’d needed the pills immediately, and without questions. She apparated back to her parent’s house, and hurried into the bedroom with Snape. He hadn’t moved an inch. She read the label on the bottle, and popped out two pills, setting the rest aside, and tapping Snape’s arm to wake him.</p>
<p>“Wha-” He woke up, bleary, his face confused, his eyes glazed.</p>
<p>“Here, take these.” She pushed the pills into his hand. He lifted his hand to his mouth without question, and she handed him the water. He took a drink, and just held it. She removed it from his fingers, and set it back down.</p>
<p>“What’s your name?” His voice startled her, and she looked at him curiously.</p>
<p>“Professor, are you feeling alright?” She asked, pressing her palm to his cheek. His skin felt like fire, and his eyes seemed to swim around her face, seeing her, but not lucid.</p>
<p>“So sweet.” He murmured, his own hands lifting to touch her face. His palms were scorching, and she dropped her hand, feeling a blush creep to her cheeks, as she pulled at his wrist, trying to remove his touch.</p>
<p>“Professor, you need to rest.” Hermione muttered, pushing at his shoulder, to encourage him to lie back. His hand was faster than lightning, grabbing her, and pulling her down with him, his smirk alien and charming all at once.</p>
<p>“Professor!” She cried in surprise, as she was yanked down nearly on top of him and rolled to her back as he practically pinned her to the bed.</p>
<p>“Mm, I like that. Say it again.” He murmured, lowering his head, to breath in her ear. Her heart was racing, and she struggled to understand what had just happened. Was… Was Professor Snape making a pass at her? He had both her wrists, and she worried for a moment that he was going to grab the wands from her pockets, but instead, his lips pressed into her ear, frazzling her nerves, and mind even more.</p>
<p>“Professor, stop…” She breathed, fear spiking through her. He was weak, feverish, and still managed to overpower her, holding her easily, and kneeling comfortably between her legs. Between her legs? She realized that he’d gotten between them when he rolled, making her feel more vulnerable, and distressed. What was he going to do? Should she fight him off? Was he really so delirious, or was he going to mock and sneer?</p>
<p>“Stop? Really?” Snape’s voice was low, and self-confident as he pressed his body against her’s, his feverish heat surrounding her as he drug his nose along the edge of her pulled-back hair. She shivered at the feeling, deciding that he really was delusional, and needed to be stopped.</p>
<p>“Please…” She said, tilting her head away, trying to remove his face from her skin. He seemed to get the entirely wrong idea, and she felt blazing lips against her neck, as hips tilted into hers, and his hands slid away from her wrists, to her hair. She felt herself burning under him, from more than the heat rolling off his skin. His lips were electric, softly tingling against her neck as they moved. His large hands were surprisingly gentle, and his hips pressed into hers held a <i>very</i> personal surprise. She’d never been touched like this before, and she found it was enslaving.</p>
<p>“Oh!” She gasped, her free hands moving to his shoulders with the intention of pushing him off. But they stopped short of their goal, resting against the black fabric, as he ground his erection against her, and made his way up her throat. She’d never thought of Snape as ‘sexy’ before, but they way he moved, and touched, and kissed, he certainly <i>felt</i> sexy.</p>
<p>A soft moan escaped her lips, and he seemed to take that as an invitation. He pulled his lips from her neck, and pressed them against her mouth, soaking up the quiet sounds she was making. He was rocking against her, kissing her more deeply with every second, and his hand slid from her hair, sliding down her side, slipping his fingers under her shirt, grasping the bare skin of her waist firmly.</p>
<p>Her thoughts were muddled in a haze of feeling, the concept of shame seeming a distant memory as she moved her hips tentatively against his, and felt her chest press harder into his, her back arching into the movement. He growled against her lips, his teeth playing with her bottom one for a moment, before releasing, and delving his tongue into her mouth. He tasted like potion still, a slightly metallic taste on her tongue as he kissed her senseless. Ron’s kiss had been sweeter, less heated, and <i>definitely</i> less erotic.</p>
<p>Ron! She turned her face from Snape’s, gasping for air and logic.</p>
<p>“Wait, stop!” She cried, her hands finally pushing at his shoulders. “Professor, stop!”</p>
<p>He pulled away, his eyes focusing on her a moment, before he swept down, pressing one last kiss to her parted lips, and rolling off of her, his eyes closing as he hit the bed, and breathed heavily. Hermione shot up like a bullet, and practically ran from the room, feeling her whole body burn with embarrassment.</p>
<p>She could NOT believe she’d just let that happen! Or been into it! Hermione shut herself in her own bedroom, and collapsed on her bed, burying her face in her pillow. Her face felt like it could catch fire. The junction of her legs felt like it already had. She groaned, and flopped onto her back, feeling shame wash over her, as she thought of Ron. He was sweet. He didn’t deserve her rutting against Snape just because he was incoherent. Had he even known it was her? She doubted it. If he had, there was absolutely NO way he’d have even attempted that. Should she feel used? She figured so, but couldn’t muster the right amount of indignation to really feel it. All she felt was the heat from his mouth, and the way he’d pressed into her, growling, and biting animalistically. The fire in her slowly dwindled as she made herself push the thoughts away, and focused on her plan to keep the war going.</p>
<p>She had to find a way to tally their losses, and captures. That was the first thing. She should find a Daily Prophet, and listen in on some conversations. She’d need polyjuice potion, or to learn disguising charms, so she could walk around freely. Or as freely as anyone could.</p>
<p>She tapped her wand to her hair, reversing the blonde spell, and unbraiding it. She needed to work on getting Snape to realize that he’d been on the wrong side, and to help her. She was certain that he could teach her to hide incredibly well. Maybe he’d even teach her occlumency! She tried to stifle her excitement at that thought, reminding herself that his cooperation wasn’t guaranteed. The first thing she had to do: make him well enough to actually talk to. She had to begin trying to convince him of their cause as soon as possible. If she couldn’t… She decided she’d have to find a way to keep him locked up, away from Voldemort. She couldn’t let him help the other side anymore. The Order couldn’t afford any more adversaries. They’d already been dealt a heavy blow the previous night, and Snape couldn’t be allowed back to their side.</p>
<p>She pulled the pillow from her face, to see the sun streaming in through her window. It was barely noon. Groaning, she pulled her wand out, and walked around her home, casting charms, hexes, and wards on every wall. She needed sleep, but they would find her eventually. She had to be prepared for them.</p>
<p>When she finally flopped back on her bed, she pulled the blanket over her head, not bothering to change clothes. She didn’t want to be on the run in her pajamas, did she? She closed her eyes, and started revising her current pros and cons, letting her mind sort as she drifted quickly to sleep.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Dream Fever</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Hermione woke with a start, a loud bang reverberating through the house, as she leapt to her feet, and brandished her wand, running from her room to her parent’s. She had to get Snape, and escape, before the Death Eaters broke in.</p><p>She was halfway into the room before she realized the bed was empty, the covers thrown back. She froze, and spun on her heel, checking behind her, and finding no surprises. The house had gone silent in her dash to the next room, and she looked around confused. Had they given up attacking? She ran to the front door, and looked out of the peephole. The lawn was empty.</p><p>A dull thud and clattering noise from inside the house caught her attention, and she followed it, right into the kitchen. Snape was sitting on the floor, looking only semi-conscious, holding a pan in one hand, and a pot in the other. One cabinet was open, and it looked like he’d fallen, trying to grab the contents to steady himself, and only ended up making more noise.</p><p>“Are you alright?” She worried, hurrying to him, and yanking the dishes from his hands, tossing them noisily on the counter.</p><p>“Fine.” Snape’s familiar poisonous tone was back, and she watched his eyes narrow in hatred as she tried to help him up. He staggered to his feet, and pulled away from her, glaring daggers, and sneering bitterly at her concerned expression.</p><p>“Leave me alone, girl.” He waved a hand at her, and nearly fell, his one arm on the counter not quite enough to support himself. Hermione was under his arm in an instant, trying to pull him back toward the bedroom.</p><p>“You need to lie down, Professor. If you’re hungry, I’ll make something.” She tried to encourage him. His chest jerked, and she heard a strange strangled noise come from his throat. He was trying to laugh, she realized.</p><p>“I don’t need your help!” He scoffed, and tried to draw away again, leaning back against the counter, his hands gripping behind him for support, as he seemed to nearly shrink away from her in the small kitchen.</p><p>“Stop being so obstinate!” Hermione felt her face flush with embarrassment as she chastised the older man. In school, she’d never have even <i>thought </i>of being so bossy with him. He looked at her stunned for a moment, clearly surprised by her superior tone.</p><p>“Don’t take that tone with me!” He finally managed, straightening his back, to tower over her, like he had in school, his eyes flashing dangerously.</p><p>“I’ll take whatever tone I need to! Now either cooperate, or I’ll spell you back into bed!” She threatened, refusing to be intimidated by his imposing height, and deadly black stare. She could hardly believe that this churlish, grouchy man was the same one who’d held her down, and made her hot and bothered earlier. She glared right back at him, trying to force the memory of how it’d felt from her mind. She didn’t need that right now, she needed him to cooperate.</p><p>“Are you really so eager to get me in bed, Miss Granger?” His voice had changed slightly, his tone less cantankerous, and more suggestive. She felt her cheeks redden, realizing a moment too late that he was a skilled Legilimens. Had he seen her memories? She took a step back, hitting the opposite counter, suddenly worried by the look on his face. Was he misinterpreting her words now, too?</p><p>“I didn’t mean it like that!” She yipped, unable to fully get rid of the warmth that had flooded her with the memory. <i>‘Ron. Think of Ron.’ </i>She told herself, trying to stare her ex-professor down, without letting too many of her thoughts to the surface. She needed to be steely, impenetrable.</p><p>“You can’t lie to me, Granger.” He said, his voice low, quiet. His eyes seemed to be filling more of her mind, bigger, and bigger. She could feel the warmth from him, and pulled her eyes away, to see she was nearly surrounded by blackness. When had he gotten so close? She didn’t know, and realized his hands were holding the counter on either side of her, blocking her in with his arms.</p><p>“Let me go, Professor.” She breathed, staring up at his eyes defiantly. This wasn’t happening. Not again. “You need to rest.”</p><p>“Rest? I don’t think that’s what I need.” He practically purred. Hermione felt her heart jump into her throat, his tone warmer than his skin. This wasn’t Snape. It couldn’t be! Snape would never act like this! But it had to be! What in the world was going on!?</p><p>“I think you need rest, and more pills. You still have a fever.” Hermione tried to sound logical, able to feel the feverish heat radiating from him again. He was much too close. His eyes were clearer, but his expression, tone, and actions insisted he wasn’t coherent. Was his sickness still making him loopy? God, she hoped that’s all it was.</p><p>“I hate pills.” Snape condemned, his eyebrows pulling down, making him look even more angry, and primal. She knew a split second before he moved that he was going to do it, but it wasn’t enough time to stop his lips from falling to hers. His hands left the counter, steadying himself with her hips, his long fingers wrapping around for a moment, before moving up to tangle in her hair, keeping her face against his as he worked her mouth open, and bit at her lip again. It was a strange feeling, but matched the intensity coming from him, his whole body seemed to radiate with fevered warmth, and ferocity. Primal was definitely the right word.</p><p>Hermione’s breath caught in her throat, and she realized with shame that she was kissing him back, her mouth moving on it’s own, her hands resting on his chest as they had before, not quite determined to push him away.</p><p>“No…” She mumbled, pushing at his chest, and trying to pull her head away. <i>‘Ron</i>.’ She couldn’t betray him.</p><p>Snape pulled back slightly, his eyes searching her face, analytical, and appraising. He seemed to find what he was looking for, and smirked, leaning back in, capturing her mouth again, kissing her briefly, before she pushed harder at him.</p><p>“Stop!” She demanded against his lips, frowning, and trying to put on her most commanding, ‘I’m in charge’ face. It was wasted on thin air, as he moved to her neck, pushing her hair back to kiss the warm skin under her ear.</p><p>“I can’t stop when you look at me so… So needy, and desperate.” He murmured, his voice unfamiliar as it met her ear, quickly followed by his teeth, tugging gently at the lobe. She groaned, and felt herself shiver slightly, wondering if she really had looked ‘needy and desperate’. Surely not. She didn’t <i>need </i>this. And she wasn’t desperate!</p><p>His teeth sank roughly into her neck, making her gasp in surprise, and dig her fingers into his robes. The bite hadn’t hurt as much as it had startled her, and his lips were already moving, kissing toward her shoulder, soothing her shock. One hand massaged the back of her scalp, his fingers flexing as his lips performed, the other slipping down, to rest again on her hip, nearly cupping her rear as he pushed against her. His greater height had him pressing his hard length into her stomach, and she gasped, realizing just what she was feeling. She could barely breathe properly, her lungs filling with sharp puffs, her throat constricting around words as he bit her neck again, sending heat through her in a tidal wave.</p><p>Her fingers were splayed flat, her arms around his neck, and all she could manage was a soft whine of protest as he tugged lightly at the skin between his teeth. She felt his hand slipping from her hair, leaving her head free to move and pull away as his touch glided down her back, truly grasping her by the bum with both hands, and lifting her with a grunt. She was plopped onto the counter, her legs nearly wrapped around him as he kept her right at the edge, pushing his hips against hers provocatively. His lips were on hers again before she could regain her speech, kissing her eagerly, wickedly, putting all her arguments, and reprimands straight out of her mind.</p><p>It felt like her veins were burning with need, and a tight knot of heat was forming in her stomach, keeping her glued to him, unable to think beyond the feeling of his hands, lips, and pelvis all moving in tandem. All she wanted was <i>more</i>. More of this, more of him.</p><p>His face fell from hers, and she was anticipating his lips at her neck again, eager for the feel of his kisses, and bites, when he was suddenly no longer against her, a heavy THUD pulling her back to reality. She snapped her eyes open, finding Snape collapsed on the ground, his chest heaving with heavy breaths, his face flushed, and pale at the same time. He was sweaty, his hair sticking to his forehead, as his back pressed into the cabinets, the only thing keeping him in any semblance of ‘upright’.</p><p>“Oh no!” Hermione gasped, sliding from the counter, and crouching next to him. She suddenly felt guiltier than ever, remembering that he was sick, still recovering from the verge of death. How could she have been so stupid! So <i>selfish</i>!? His face was nearly hot enough to burn her hand, and she pulled her wand out, levitating him, and taking him quickly back to bed. He was awake enough for her to force some water, and another pill on him, and she ran back to the bathroom, grabbing more to bring the fever down.</p><p>She’d been asleep nearly all day, and kicked herself for leaving him unattended so long. Of course he was hungry, and inflamed, she hadn’t been awake to keep his temperature down, or feed him! She went back to the kitchen, finding more soup, and heating it quickly, taking it to his room. She ignored the burning of desire, and embarrassment within her as she pushed spoonful after spoonful of broth and noodles  into his mouth. She needed to get him better, so she could save Ron. And so he’d stop attacking her like she was the only sustenance for a starving man. She squeezed her thighs together, trying hard not to think about just how far past ‘too far’ she’d gone. Would Ron even <i>like </i>her anymore if he knew? He hated Snape, nearly as much as Harry did. Had. Harry had hated him.</p><p>She should hate him, too. But seeing him so weak, so delirious, she couldn’t bring herself to. He was just a man who’d made mistakes. Just like everyone else. He deserved a second chance, she decided, so long as he didn’t try anything funny again. Though he hadn’t gone for her wand, which he’d been more than able to, with how distracted she’d been both times. Perhaps he was already seeing the error of his ways. Or perhaps he was too sick to even think about it.</p><p>She cleaned the bowl out, and made him drink more water, sitting next to him on the bed as he dozed back to sleep, his worried, angry, and pained expressions all fading, leaving him looking peaceful, and years younger. Without his scowl, he was almost handsome, the severe angles of his face making him look more elegant than demonic. His nose WAS a bit large, but she didn’t hate it. It didn’t seem to get in the way of his kissing. She blushed, and stood, hurrying from the room at the thought. She quickly countered her internal appraisal of the man with all the negatives she could think of. He was greasy, he was a Death Eater, he was twice her age, he was cruel, and he obviously had deeply-hidden boundary issues.</p><p>She busied herself with packing a bag, in case they needed to leave in a hurry. She spelled it to be more durable, and added an undetectable extension charm to it. It wasn’t as big of a charm as she’d put on her purse, but it would hold what they needed, and anything she happened to pick up later. She neatly packed extra clothes, toiletries, and a few books. Then she headed back into her parent’s room, trying to ignore the sleeping Snape, as she opened the closet, and pulled out a few of her father’s left-behind clothes, for her professor. They’d have to do, at least until they could find better. She added the pills, not wanting to forget them in a rush, and threw in one of her father’s notepads, and a few pens. It’d be useful if she needed to copy something, or send a letter. She added her dad’s minimal camping supplies, and his small tent. It’d be enough.</p><p>Hermione also added Snape’s wand to the contents, hiding it away, and keeping it safe. If he ever earned it back, he’d hopefully be glad she’d kept it from getting snapped, or lost. When she decided she was finished, she sat back down, and shook him gently awake, helping him drink more water. He barely opened his eyes, and she was grateful for a moment that she wouldn’t have to fend off his feverish advances again. She also felt a bit of disappointment, which she quickly quashed. Her pants were already uncomfortable, and she didn’t need it getting worse. Wait, uncomfortable? She groaned, and left the room again, realizing that the feeling was her underpants, soaking wet, and cooling off, leaving her feeling soiled, and awkward. She grabbed a new pair of knickers, and went to the bathroom to change, and clean up, deciding that the aftermath of snogging her professor was definitely NOT worth whatever she’d found enjoyable about it.</p><p>She buttoned her jeans, and pulled trainers on, incredibly glad that she hadn’t given up her home. They’d have to leave soon, though, especially if she ever wanted to see it standing again. If they found her here, they’d burn the place down, just to spite her. But where else could she go? She thought hard on it, ruling out Grimmauld Place. They’d apparated a Death Eater right to the front door, so it was no longer safe. Snape’s house was probably being watched. Hogwarts had been retaken. The Burrow had fallen last summer. Harry’s childhood home was probably being watched, as well. Everyone’s home was likely forfeit after the battle, Death Eaters now knowing just who to target. Hogsmeade was too close to the Death Eater’s new base. She needed somewhere new. Somewhere unsuspecting, that no one would think to hide, or look at. Where would she find a place like that? The Burrow had been great, until it’d been overrun. Maybe somewhere in the country? Maybe a little farmhouse, in the south, but away from London. Maybe Wales? She’d have to find a map, and determine a good location. Somewhere without many people, but preferably trees to hide the house from questioning eyes.</p><p>She checked the clock, and went to give Snape more medicine and water. The sun had started setting, casting a dim orange light on the rooms, and making Snape’s face look even more waxy as he opened his eyes to look at her.</p><p>“Trying to get extra points by taking care of me, Granger?” He asked inanely, his face scrunching into a frown. She frowned right back, deciding she preferred him asleep. This fever was really making him get on her nerves.</p><p>“We’re not in school, Professor. You can’t even give points.” She answered waspishly, pushing the pills right into his mouth, and stopping his next sentence. He gulped them down with a grimace, and she remembered what he’d said about hating them. Her curiosity skyrocketed, and she tried valiantly to hold her question in.</p><p>“Why do you hate pills?” She blurted, caving to the need to know. His black eyes locked on hers, and he looked surprised that she knew that. Had he forgotten saying it earlier? Had he forgotten snogging her, too? She felt pinkness creep into her cheeks as he stared.</p><p>“Pills always feel intrusive. Like they’ll stick to your throat. I prefer potions.” Snape finally answered, his face holding a strange expression. Suspicion, warring with concern. “Are you real?” He whispered, making her frown with surprise.</p><p>“Real? Of course I’m real. What else would I be?” She snapped, feeling her patience with his confusing manner nearly reach its peak. She couldn’t stand Snape on a regular day, but it seemed that the fever made him even less tolerable. He was sitting up, shaking slightly as he did so, but he managed, without her help. His black eyes stared at her the whole while, as he contemplated her words.</p><p>“I can never tell. These are always so vivid… So real…” He reached a hand out, and swept it against her hair, pushing it slightly back, before letting his hand fall to the bed again. Hermione felt a prick of worry. Was he losing his mind completely?</p><p>“What are always vivid?” She asked in barely a whisper, fearing his answer, her mind racing with new diagnosable worries.</p><p>“The dreams.” He answered, looking at her as though she were the addled one. Hermione’s breath froze in her chest.</p><p>“Is that what this is? A dream?” She asked, looking him over. Sweating, check. Fever, check. Flushed face, check. Delusions, check. Complete lack of morals and shame, check.</p><p>“Of course it is. The real you would never do this. The real me wouldn’t.” He said, his voice getting quieter as he spoke. His eyes flicked to her mouth, and she jumped off the bed, out of his reach. Dream Fever, check. She thought fast, slinging the bag over her shoulders, and pulling her wand out, deciding in an instant what needed to be done. There was only one way.</p><p>She pointed her wand at her hair, turning it a dusty blonde, and throwing it into as tight of a bun as she could. Then she ran to the other side of the bed, pulling her father’s spare pair of reading glasses out, and shoving them on her nose. The disguise would have to be enough for now. As for Snape…</p><p>She pointed her wand at him, transfiguring his robes to green, and shooting the same stinging hex at his face as she’d used on Harry. He yelped, hands shooting to his face as it swelled beyond recognition.</p><p>“That’ll have to do.” She said, giving him a once over. Neither would be instantly recognizable, but neither disguise would hold against closer inspection. She helped him from the bed, and spun on the spot, pulling him with her as she Disapparated.</p><p>“Where are we going?” Snape hissed, sounding more like his usual self.</p><p>“Shh. Don’t speak.” Hermione ordered, dragging him along a short corridor, to a front desk. A witch in lime green sat behind it, scribbling furiously at a piece of parchment.</p><p>“My friend needs help. He’s got a Dream Fever.” Hermione said, forcing herself to speak in a voice slightly higher than normal. Just one more layer to her disguise.</p><p>“Oh?” The receptionist looked up, and jumped slightly at the swelling on his face. “What happened!” She gasped, standing to inspect him.</p><p>“He made a pass at me, so I hexed him, and brought him here. He’ll be fine, once the fever’s gone.” Hermione said, ducking her head slightly, trying not to look guiltily at the wanted poster of herself on the wall behind the receptionist. The woman waved her wand at a bit of paper, and it soared into the air, flying down the hallway, to fetch a Healer.</p><p>Hermione pulled Snape slightly away from the desk, hoping to avoid identification, as they waited. Not long after, a wizard in the same shade of green came trotting down the hall, looking concerned, but lively.</p><p>“You’re the Dream Fever?” He asked, looking at her speculatively.</p><p>“He is.” Hermione said, and the Healer looked at him, not seeming startled in the least to see his swollen face, or swaying form. He waved his wand, summoning a gurney from a different door, and stepped forward, helping lay Snape on it. Hermione followed, as the bed followed the Healer like a faithful dog, keeping right on his heels.</p><p>“I’m sorry, but you really should wait out there.” The healer said, when he paused at a door, and saw her still behind him.</p><p>“I can’t leave him alone. He made me promise.” Hermione said, playing the fever to her own advantage. The magical illness made those under it sometimes paranoid, and lacking in self-control. It wasn’t even close to rare for witches and wizards with the affliction to make strange demands, or act oddly.</p><p>“Very well. If it’ll keep him calm.” The healer acquiesced, ushering her into the room after the cart.</p><p>Hermione hovered near the door as the man cast spells, lighting up Snape’s body with magic, as he diagnosed the severity of the sickness.</p><p>“Is this neck wound the cause?” The healer asked, eyeing Hermione again, pointing his wand at the nearly healed bite.</p><p>“I believe so.” Hermione said, hoping he wouldn’t recognize it for what it was.</p><p>“How’d it happen?” He asked, his nonchalance sounding a little too unconcerned. Hermione kept her breathing even, ready to reach for her wand at any moment.</p><p>“We were attacked, and he splinched himself.” Hermione answered, keeping her voice level, and slightly worried, as she looked down at her ‘friend’.</p><p>“Ah. This war’s been awful for everyone. I can’t tell you how many I’ve had come in, that got hurt running, or fighting.” He said, his face truly remorseful. “This jinx happen during the fight?” He asked, and Hermione shook her head.</p><p>“No. I did that, to keep him off of me. Bloody romantic, that one is.” She gave a laugh, and found it wasn’t at all false. The way he’d looked at her, touched her, really did seem funny now. He’d thought it was all a dream, and had made a fool out of himself. Well, she’d made one of herself as well, but he’d done it first!</p><p>“Ah. Quick thinking. Sometimes, in these situations, someone doesn’t realize what they’re dealing with, and the defensive hexes are usually worse than the actual fever.” He mused, opening a cabinet with his wand, and brewing a quick potion. Hermione watched carefully, trying to catalogue, and remember what he did. He tipped the potion down Snape’s throat, finding it difficult with the swelling. He frowned, but kept at it, glancing at Hermione only briefly, as he fed the potion to the man.</p><p>“Is it true?” The man said in a low voice, barely a whisper. “Is Harry Potter dead?”</p><p>Hermione felt herself frozen in place, eyes locked on the man in terror. He had recognized her. She pulled her wand from her back pocket slowly, hoping he’d finish with Snape before trying to turn them in.</p><p>“He’s dead? What happened?” Hermione asked, trying to keep her voice neutral.</p><p>“You haven’t heard? They’ve been blasting it on the radio, and it was in this morning’s Prophet.” He said, glancing at her again, as he continued the slow tipping of the brew. “They say there was a battle at Hogwarts. You-Know-Who won, and Harry Potter’s dead. The Prophet had a list of wizards who’d been captured in the fight, and sent to Azkaban.”</p><p>Hermione gasped. Was that where Ron was? She felt her hand trembling.</p><p>“I hadn’t heard. We’ve been hiding for a few days.” She lied smoothly, watching as the Healer set the empty glass down, and straightened back up.</p><p>“Oh. I’m sorry to be the bearer of that news, then.” He said, and stepped around the bed, heading for the door. “I’ve some paperwork I’ll need you to fill out, if you’ll follow me please.”</p><p>“I can’t leave him.” Hermione repeated, feeling her gut twist. If she left him, she knew she’d never see him again. The healer was onto them. Maybe he’d already turned them in.</p><p>“Oh, right. Well, I suppose you’d only be lying on the papers, anyway…” He shrugged, and Hermione darted after him.</p><p>“Wait!” She called, bringing her wand up, so he saw her at the ready when he turned.</p><p>“Yes?” He asked, looking at her wand, and then her face.</p><p>“You… Did you call them here?” She asked, watching his face carefully.</p><p>“No. But the receptionist probably did.” He said, his face twisting with repentance. Then, in an undertone, he added, “Get out while you can, Miss Granger.” He turned, and headed down the corridor, like nothing had happened, sticking his hands in his pockets, and keeping his head down.</p><p>“<i>Obliviate<i>!” Hermione shouted, pointing her wand at the back of his head, he paused for a moment, and kept walking, his head held higher, his steps a little faster. Hopefully, he wouldn’t remember them at all. She darted back into the room, and levitated Snape from the cot, racing him out of the room, and down the hall, toward the Apparition point. Snape’s unconscious body soared after her, and she ran past the doctor who’d helped them, and right into the lobby, just as the receptionist stood, and pointed her wand.</i></i></p><p>
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    <i>“<i>Expelliarmus!</i>” Hermione cried, not waiting to catch the flying wand as she darted into the hallway for Disapparition. She let Snape down as quickly as she could, and slung his arm over her shoulders, before apparating away. The sickening lurch behind her navel pulled them instantly back to her parent’s livingroom. She’d been spotted, so they’d be on the hunt for her. Hopefully the receptionist hadn’t recognized Snape, or the pursuit would be that much harder.</i>
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    <i>She set Snape gently on the couch, and ran to the kitchen, throwing cans into her backpack, and adding some silverware. She found a box of crackers, and tossed those in, too, zipping it back up, and heading back to Snape. He was still unconscious, and she hesitated for a brief moment. They’d be here any minute, searching her known addresses first. She couldn’t leave him, even if he was dead weight. She cast a charm to make him lighter, and lifted him easily to his feet, holding him again, with one arm over her shoulders, and turning to disappear from her childhood home, for a very long time.</i>
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    <i>She was in a side street, off of Diagon Alley. She’d be recognized almost instantly, but she needed a few things, first. Luckily, she was right in front of the apothecary. She set Snape gently to the ground, hiding him behind rubbish bins, and tapping his head to disillusion him. When he was hidden well enough, she pulled her jacket hood over her head, and hurried across the street, with her head down. She made it into the store without being recognized, but as soon as she lifted her head to look around, she knew she was in trouble. The shopkeeper was looking at her with a look of absolute horror.</i>
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    <i>“<i>Petrificus Totalus<i>!” She froze him, and unzipped her bag, going down the aisles, and throwing things in, having no time to sort, or organize. She could do that later.</i></i></i>
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        <i>“I’m so, so sorry!” She called to the shopkeeper’s petrified form, closing her bag, and reaching in a different pocket of it. “This is all I have right now, but I swear I’ll pay you the rest when I can!” She said, slamming the money on the counter, and dashing out, feeling only mildly guilty for basically robbing the shop. She knew that some of the things she’d stolen had alone been worth more than what she’d left behind. But it was all she could do. She needed these ingredients, and had no other way to get them.</i>
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        <i>She ran back across Diagon Alley, and grabbed Snape’s still feather-light body, lifting him to his feet, and Apparating away again. She knew being in the Forest of Dean was dangerous, that they’d be looking for her here, too, but hopefully, she’d be able to hide, and set up wards to prevent them from being seen.</i>
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        <i>She cast charms to make sure they were truly alone, and set Snape, and her bag down, unzipping it, and pulling the tent out. She waved her wand, encouraging it to set itself up. It sprang to creation nearly immediately, as though it was eager to be set up. She slid Snape inside first, and then the backpack, charming it shut before she walked her circle to set the wards. She made three circles of their campsite setting up defensive wards, warning charms, and even transfigured the tent to be a nonreflective mottled green, similar to Muggle camouflage, only much less visible. If someone stumbled upon their campsite in the dark, hopefully, they’d have enough warning to get away.</i>
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        <i>She sat outside the tent in the dark, unable to sleep, listening for snatchers, or worse. She could hear Snape softly snoring inside the tent, the potion working, and allowing him to finally rest properly. She leaned her head back onto a tree, her appearance back to normal, and Snape’s face unswollen, and everything seeming to hold it’s breath, waiting for the next disaster.</i>
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<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Occlumency</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Snape woke with a grunt, and Hermione glanced into the open tent flap, to see him sitting upright, looking around. His eyes caught hers, and he looked at her suspiciously.</p><p>“Granger?” He asked, his eyes narrowing.</p><p>“Yes. Are you feeling better?” She asked, moving to crouch in front of the tent, reaching a hand out to feel his forehead. He jerked away, swatting at her hand, his eyes thin slits of distrust.</p><p>“What was the first thing I ever said to you, Granger?” He asked, watching her face closely. She wondered briefly if he could even practice his legilimency without his wand.</p><p>“You told me to sit down.” She said, clearly remembering her embarrassment from her first ever potion’s class. She’d known all the answers, and he’d refused to call on her. “You wanted to make Harry look like a- an idiot.”</p><p>He smirked at the memory, and she felt her face flame, deciding to test him, as well.</p><p>“And you, Professor? What’s the first thing you said to him?” She shot back, not needing to read his mind, to read his face.</p><p>“I believe I asked him about the Draught of Living Death, monkshood, and where to find a Bezoar.” He said, thinking back. “Couldn’t answer a single one.” He sneered.</p><p>“He’s dead.” Hermione whispered, watching his face as what could almost have been sadness took over.</p><p>“I know.” Snape muttered, closing his eyes. “I sent him to it.”</p><p>“You… what?” Hermione asked, leaning back.</p><p>“I gave him my memories, and I assume, if he’s dead, that he saw what Dumbledore had planned for him.” Snape said, looking remorseful.</p><p>“Dumbledore?” Hermione said, remembering how Harry had jumped up, just to be struck right back down.</p><p>“Yes. Is Nagini dead?” He asked, seeming suddenly more alert.</p><p>“Yes. Harry died getting her to us. I killed her.” Hermione said, remembering how she’d finished the snake, just before seeing Harry die.</p><p>“He… The Dark Lord killed him though, yes?” Snape looked eager, and Hermione felt a twinge of fear. She backed up a bit, worried he was going to lunge for her wand, and get back to his master.</p><p>“He did. He came carrying his body out of the forest, but Harry wasn’t really dead, and when he jumped up, to send Nagini flying to us, You-Know-Who cursed him.” She answered, watching his expressions. Triumph, confusion, sorrow.</p><p>“He never meant him to stay dead.” He whispered, and Hermione leaned in involuntarily.</p><p>“Sorry?” She asked.</p><p>“Dumbledore, he knew he had to die, but… He wasn’t supposed to stay dead. Is the Dark Lord defeated?” He asked, concerned.</p><p>“No. After he killed Harry, people scattered. He retook Hogwarts. I was trying to get away when I found you in the Shrieking Shack. You were still alive, so… I took you with me.” She explained, seeing dread, and terror cross his face at the news that Voldemort still lived.</p><p>“He’s got no horcruxes left. We must finish him quickly.” He said, and made as if to move.</p><p>“Slow down!” Hermione ordered, pushing him back. “What do you mean? You’re… not on his side anymore?”</p><p>“No. Didn’t Harry take you two along on his adventure through my memories?” Snape asked, looking at her suspiciously. She shook her head.</p><p>“No. We hadn’t even realized where he’d gone. He just left, while we were… Gathering the wounded.” Hermione choked out, remembering Fred’s pale face. Lupin and Tonks. Colin Creevy.</p><p>“Oh.” He sat back, looking a bit dismayed.</p><p>“What was in them?” Hermione asked curiously, remembering how Snape had been so adamant to get them to Harry, even as he bled out on the floor.</p><p>“The truth. And proof that it was.” Snape answered cryptically. Hermione narrowed her eyes at him.</p><p>“What did he see?” She asked, taking the more firm tone she’d used while he was feverish.</p><p>“My childhood. And a few conversations with Dumbledore. I suppose… he didn’t tell anyone what he saw? Just ran off to save the day in typical Potter fashion?”</p><p>“He did at that.” Hermione smirked, finding a bit of lightness if her friend’s memory.</p><p>“I… Remember we were at my house…?” Snape asked almost hesitantly.</p><p>“We were. You managed to tell me close enough, and I found it from there.” She said, feeling proud.</p><p>“Did you manage to bring any of the potions?” He asked, and she shook her head again.</p><p>“There wasn’t time. Bellatrix was after us. Though, I don’t think she knew it was us.” Hermione repeated his earlier assessment to him.</p><p>“Yes, I remember that. A bit.” He said. “I don’t remember much after that, it all starts to blur together. What happened? How did we end up in the woods?” He asked, and Hermione held up her hands.</p><p>“Wait, I have questions, first.” She stated, and began before he could refuse. “Why are you suddenly acting as though you’re still on our side? You killed Dumbledore.” She accused. “He trusted you. Why?”</p><p>“That’s my business.” Snape snapped, crossing his arms. Hermione lifted her wand, and put on her fiercest scowl.</p><p>“And you owe me your life. Answer my questions.” She demanded. She couldn’t afford any weakness.</p><p>“Fine!” He  snarled, giving her his nastiest glare. “The Headmaster asked me to kill him, so Draco wouldn’t have to. The curse on his hand was spreading, and would have killed him in under a year anyway.”</p><p>“And why he trusted you?” Hermione prompted when he held his tongue.</p><p>“The Dark Lord killed someone I loved. He never had my support afterward.” He answered quietly, not meeting her gaze, glaring instead at the tent wall.</p><p>“And why should I trust you, since I don’t have proof of these things?” Hermione asked, not lowering her wand even an inch.</p><p>“You can’t, can you?” Snape sneered, looking back at her with black hate-filled eyes. “All you have is a life-debt that you’re owed, and, I assume, my wand.”</p><p>“Yes.” Hermione admitted, keeping her eyes firmly on his. “But I’d like your help, even if I can’t fully trust you. You know things. Things I need to learn. Teach me, and I’ll consider your debt paid.” She bargained.</p><p>“Fine. What do you want to be taught?” He asked, his expression clearly expressing his disbelief that she COULD be taught.</p><p>“Occlumency. Oh, and how to hide better, as well.” She said. “For starters.” He sighed sharply, still glaring.</p><p>“Fine. For Occlumency, clear your mind, for disguise, hide behind a tree.” He spat nastily, pushing suddenly past her, and standing to stalk into the dark.</p><p>“Wait, where are you going, that’s not a proper lesson!” She called after him, jumping to her feet.</p><p>“I’ve been unconscious for what, two days? I feel the need for a bit of privacy if you don’t mind. Don’t worry, I’m not going to run off.” He spat, and kept stalking away, his green-transfigured cloak flapping as he went. It rather ruined the bat effect, but still managed to make his walking sound more angry than it already did. Hermione sat back against her tree, taking solace that he couldn’t apparate away without his wand, and she’d know if he passed her wards.</p><p>She was starting to worry that he really had run off, and her wards had failed, when he came stalking back, looking just as peeved.</p><p>“Do you need more water?” She asked, seeing his slightly flushed face from the walk.</p><p>“No. I’m fine.” He snapped, leaning against a tree while standing. Hermione fell silent, wondering if she should bring up the subject of their lessons again, or if she should give him time to calm down. He seemed to be getting no less angry though, and when he finally spoke, she flushed red with guilt.</p><p>“Have you been clearing your mind?” He asked, turning his baleful gaze on her.</p><p>“Er, no, sorry.” She yipped, looking down apologetically. Snape grumbled to himself, and wandered off again, his footsteps still audible as he walked a small circle around their campsite. She focused on the sounds of the forest nightlife, trying to clear her mind of thought.</p><p>Snape’s footsteps were harsh, and even, even after his recent brush with death, and illness, he seemed determined not to let it make him any gentler, or any less angry. As his footsteps circled back to where she sat, she jumped slightly, and focused again on clearing her mind. Forest creatures, rustling leaves, footsteps. Nothing substantial. Just sounds. She focused only on the closeness of his boots, and not the meaning behind the sounds, as he walked back up to their small camp.</p><p>“Well?” He asked testily. Hermione opened her eyes.</p><p>“I’m practicing. Should I be focusing on sounds, or just pure nothingness?” She asked. He paused, his expression muddled for a moment, as though he hadn’t expected her question.</p><p>“Starting by focusing on something such as sound is fine. As you get better you’ll be able to completely clear your thoughts.” He answered, his tone less sharp. She nodded, and closed her eyes again, focusing on a soft rustling noise, not sure if it was the wind, or an animal. It didn’t matter, it was just white noise.</p><p>“Granger.”</p><p>She opened her eyes again, and looked up into black pools.</p><p>“Yes, Professor?” She asked, trying to keep her tone light.</p><p>“How did we end up in the woods?” He asked, his voice forcibly un-angry. She tried to hide her smirk.</p><p>“You had Dream Fever, so I had to take you to St. Mungo’s. The receptionist turned us in, so I had to escape, and we couldn’t stay at my parents’ anymore. So, here we are, the only place left to be.” She said. She saw his face blanch as she told what he’d had. He seemed on the verge of asking another question, but held his tongue, gesturing for her to continue her practice. She closed her eyes obediently, and focused on her breathing. In. Out. Iiiin. Ouuuut.</p><p>“Was I unconscious throughout the fever?” His voice cut across her meditating again, and she opened her eyes, trying to discern if she should tell him the truth or not.</p><p>“No. I managed to feed you, and give you pills.” She settled on half of the truth. She wasn’t sure she was ready to tell anybody about what had happened on the counter, or in her parents’ bed. She closed her eyes again, and tried to add a bit of curiosity to her voice. “What’d you dream about, anyway?”</p><p>“That’s a rather personal question!” Snape snapped, and she heard his feet stalking off again. She sighed, and tried not to focus on the sounds of his boots. The wind rustling the leaves was pleasant, and she focused on that instead, finding herself drawn back to the boots, and thoughts of Snape’s ire, repeatedly.</p><p>“Did I say anything to you about them? While I was delirious?” Snape suddenly asked, his voice making Hermione jump. He was in their campsite again.</p><p>“Yes.” She admitted unwittingly, and nearly slapped her own forehead with her folly. “You said they were realistic.” She finished, hoping it was enough. It was the truth. It really was all he’d said about them. No, wait, there was something else… “You also said that you could never tell the difference.”</p><p>“I see.” Snape said, his inky eyes holding hers. She wondered briefly again if he could see into her mind without a wand.</p><p>“Professor, are you testing me? Can you do Legilimency without a wand?” She asked, finally giving her worries voice.</p><p>“I can. Though with one, it’s so much more powerful.” He said, grinning at her viciously.</p><p>“Oh.” She balked, and closed her eyes again, hoping to cut him off from her thoughts. She focused again on the rusting of the wind. She could do this. She could learn Occlumency.</p><p>“Don’t think about what you are doing. Don’t think about anything.” Snape said, and she popped her eyes open, staring at him befuddled.</p><p>“Can you see into my mind, even without eye contact?” She asked, slightly horrified.</p><p>“Not with Legilimency. Your expressions give away your thoughts just as easily.” He lectured, looking haughty, his own face holding a fair amount of expression. She glared at him a moment, and unfocused her mind, letting her face go slack, as she listened to the leaves.</p><p>“Look at me.”</p><p>She met his black gaze, her mind calm, the sound of leaves filling the silence as his eyes bored into hers.</p><p>“Good, I think you may actually learn, in time.” Snape said with what could almost pass as a smile. He left her alone, to keep practicing, and stalked back into the woods, walking another circle around their camp, his footsteps much quieter than earlier, nearly undetectable as he got farther from camp. Hermione sank back into the meditation, trying to keep her mind blank for longer, and longer, pushing all emotion down, and trying to feel a calm void. She could do this. She would.</p>
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<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“No, that’s not right at all. Are you even listening?” Snape barked rudely, slapping a hand down on the small wooden table she’d transfigured from a tree trunk.</p><p>“I AM listening! You won’t tell me what I’m doing wrong!” Hermione spat back, feeling her ire rise at his condemning tone. It’d been two weeks since she’d started learning occlumency, and he’d begun teaching her the art of disguise, as well. He was currently failing to teach her to pull her features into unrecognizable shapes. She was having a harder time of it than her previous transfiguration work, Snape’s overbearing attitude, and abusive notes on her lack of progress only making her annoyed, and unfocused.</p><p>“You’re moving your wand incorrectly, and focusing too much on what you already look like. Make your wrist movements more fluid, and think only about what your goal is, not the material you have to work with.” He explained in an angry tone, crossing his arms, and leaning back in his chair. She nodded, keeping her lips sealed tight against any further fighting, and tried again, waving her wand over her face slowly, visualizing sharp cheekbones, deep-set eyes, and a cleft chin. She watched her reflection in the mirror in front of her, as her eyes seemed to sink slightly, and her chin created the tiniest dimple.</p><p>“Aha!” She crowed with glee, glad that she’d finally made progress. It wasn’t much, but it was a start, and she was glad that Snape said nothing as she sat back, and drew a harsh line across her face with her wand, ending the glamour. It wouldn’t hold up to a touch-test, but to the naked eye, it would look real enough.</p><p>She’d spent the last two weeks camping out in the same spot, learning from the potions master, and trying to make their small campsite more homey. She’d made a fire pit, a small table, chairs, and expanded the inside of the tent a bit, to make it more comfortable. She barely slept, but she liked the idea of it being roomier, nonetheless. She still hadn’t given Snape back his wand, unable to bring herself to trust him, even after weeks of being in his company. He hadn’t tried to attack her, or take her wand even once, seeming content as he could be, to simply bite ruthlessly cruel things across the small clearing to her, and glare daggers if she tried to have a conversation. He taught her willingly enough, which she owed to his life-debt, but he was rude and bitter with every lesson. She was beginning to think that it was more for show than his own sadistic amusement.</p><p>She waved her wand at her face over and over, determined to better her skills before the sun set. It was getting warmer, but the nights were still chilly, and she didn’t like to be sitting silently in the dark anymore than she had to. Even though Snape wandered around the campsite until late most nights, he almost never spoke to her unless they were doing a lesson, or he had to communicate a need, such as a bath, or for her to relight the fire. She’d been glad for her idea to bring toiletries, and some of her father’s old clothes, so she was able to hand them to Snape, and let him bathe in a nearby river, instead of conjuring a bathtub in the middle of their camp. That had been something she hadn't wanted to see. Him, bathing. His complete lack of charm and decency had made it easy for her to forget what he’d done while sick, leaving her free to focus on more important things, like the war, and learning what she needed to survive.</p><p>Before he’d started teaching her to transfigure her face, he’d given her a rather short lesson on using her surroundings to hide in. He’d pointed out things she hadn’t thought of, like disillusioning herself, and climbing a tree above eye-level. Most wizards, he’d said, didn’t look up as much as they should. So she’d been practicing her tree-climbing, seeing if she could improve her speed in getting off the ground, and her stealth with getting hidden. So far, she’d managed nothing more than bruises from falling, and Snape relating her climbing skills to that of a fish. Completely useless.</p><p>Still, every day, she climbed a tree, and sat quietly, trying to clear her mind, as she hid. She practiced her Occlumency nearly all the time, trying to keep her mind blank as she climbed, or keep her feelings from her face as she read the Daily Prophet she’d managed to nick from another supply run.</p><p>The only time her mind wasn’t trying to be clear, was when Snape picked fights, making her feel childlike, or incompetent. It only served to make her even more aggravated, and made her nearly incapable of occluding her thoughts, or feelings. This only served to make Snape more nasty, and intolerable, so she’d tried to speak to him as little as possible. It was hardest in moments like that one, when she sat across from his glare, trying to ignore his existence, as he spat nasty remarks at her.</p><p>“Perhaps you should just run off to America, or some such, and hide, instead of trying to learn this? If you’re going to prove incompetent at EVERYTHING, you might as well give up now.” He sneered, making her heart wrench with pain at the words. She slammed her hands down on the table, and stood, glaring across at him as she took a deep breath.</p><p>“I am NOT incompetent at everything, you ill-mannered cur!” she shouted, feeling her anger finally break loose across the table. Professor or not, she could tolerate no more of his acrid temperament. Her hands shook slightly as she yelled at him, feeling seven years worth of frustration and fury dispense from her lungs. “I had top grades in EVERY class, and I’ve spent the last year personally helping to defeat the darkest wizard in the world! Your uncivil comments are neither appreciated nor welcome, and if you continue, I swear, I WILL curse you!”</p><p>She took another deep breath, and turned to stomp her way into the trees, putting as much distance between her and the bastard as possible. She gripped her wand tightly, muttering to herself as she went, staring at the dirt and leaves under her feet. Was he trying to get hexed? Perhaps he’d changed his mind on wanting to live, and was going to irritate her into murdering him. She shook her head, knowing she could never kill someone, even if they were as nasty as Snape had been.</p><p>She reached the stream and slowed, walking along the bank, and feeling a pinkness creep into her cheeks as she realized she’d just yelled at Snape. Something she’d thought about doing for years, but never quite had the courage to do. She’d been worried about detention, or the points she’d lose, or being expelled. Now, it felt like a pit in her stomach, when she realized she’d have to eventually go back, and face whatever reaction he’d definitely have to her outburst. She was certain he would say vicious things back to her, and knew that if it came to a battle of insults, and nastiness, he would definitely win. But could she reign in her emotions, and hold back from replying to whatever he had to say? Could she keep her tongue in check, and let his words bounce off of her harmlessly? She’d have to if she ever wanted a semblance of peace again.</p><p>She kicked a rock into the stream, and watched it splash and produce a satisfying noise as it sent up a tiny fountain of water. She needed to relax before she went back. Maybe a quick swim would help cool her off, and release some of the tension walking hadn’t quite gotten rid of. She smiled to herself, and began pulling her shirt over her head, stripping down to her underwear. She set her wand on top of her pile of clothes, and toed the water, feeling the cool wash of it against her toes, before wading in to her knees, and sinking down.</p><p>She gasped as it hit her thighs and stomach, shivering as the chill consumed her. It’d been colder than her feet had thought. She wrapped her arms around herself, and crawled a little deeper, her toes careful on the slick rocks of the stream bed. When she was up to her neck, and nearly shivering, she forced her arms out, and stretched backward, allowing herself to float on the water, and stare at the grey clouds above the treetops.</p><p>She emptied her mind, setting aside her anger, and fear. The grey clouds rolled above her, promising rain soon, but she hardly noticed, her eyes flicking to the waving tree branches that lined her vision. She could see the wind, but heard only the water in her ears, making everything distorted, and deep. Her muscles were tense in the cold water, and she twisted her arms in small circles, pushing herself backward aimlessly a few paces. She closed her eyes, focusing on her own mind, trying to keep the stillness, and transform it to complete nothingness. Her thoughts instantly filled with images, and memories, supplying thoughts of nothingness, instead of blankness itself.</p><p>She sighed, and sat up, quickly finding her footing, and heading back to her pile of clothes. She wasn’t able to think nothing, but she could still tune out a lot. She pointed her wand at herself, drying the water from her skin and undergarments before pulling her clothes back on. She stuck her wand in her back pocket, and began the trek back toward camp, trying desperately not to think about being angry. She’d said what she wanted, and if it didn’t get through, nothing further would help. She had to keep her head, even if he baited her.</p><p>She heard the rain start before she felt it, the water running through the canopy before it began drizzling on her head. She groaned, and walked faster, scowling at the ground as she went. She’d been hoping to make it back to the tent before the rain began, but it was just her luck to be stuck walking in it.</p><p>The little droplets clung to her hair, and sank into her clothes, chilling her nearly as much as the stream had. It seemed that whatever storm had decided to blow in was lowering the temperature drastically. The wind was blowing the rain into her face, just enough to be vexing, and even ducking her head didn’t seem to help much. She heard a loud crack of thunder and walked faster, pulling out her wand to cast anti-shock charms on the tent when she arrived.</p><p>When she finally saw the tent, she nearly ran to it, feeling a wave of relief, and waving her wand at it quickly before ducking inside. They’d be safe from lightning, but with the storm gaining force, they’d likely be stuck inside the canvas shelter together for a long while. She zipped the flap closed behind her, and kept her eyes away from his side of the tent, not wanting to look toward him.</p><p>“Granger!” She jumped, startled by the call from outside. Her eyes darted to where she’d been avoiding, and saw it empty. Snape was outside? She hurried back to the opening, and stuck her head out, shouting for him to hear over the rain.</p><p>“I’m in here!” She called, and ducked back inside, waving her wand over herself, starting the slow process of drying her soaked hair and clothes. The water evaporated with little curls of steam as Snape came through the tent opening, a fierce scowl in place when he turned to face her. He said nothing, plopping wetly down on his side of the tent, and grabbed a towel to rub at his wet face and arms. Hermione turned her gaze back to her own task, watching her sleeve release the water, and trying to blank her mind, so he couldn’t peer inside.</p><p>“Do you think the Dark Lord will be any more agreeable than I’ve been, Granger?” Snape’s cold voice cut through the tent.</p><p>“No.” Hermione answered, keeping her gaze firmly away from his.</p><p>“So if you fail to control your temper here, what makes you think for even a moment that you would stand a chance of tricking a man whose very presence demands a volatile reaction?” Snape asked, his voice much too calm. When was he going to blow up, and berate her? She held her breath for a moment, thinking over his words.</p><p>“I wouldn’t.” She admitted, just the thought of Voldemort making her feel sick to her stomach, and enraged.</p><p>“If you cannot convincingly pretend to be unbothered by my criticism, you would never be able to keep your enmity toward the Dark Lord from his attention.” Snape declared, and Hermione realized he was right. Anyone who she’d be using Occlumency on would likely be just as nasty as Snape, if not worse. And she’d been failing entirely when he was testing her. She realized with a start that he HAD been testing her. Over, and over, his cutting remarks had been meant to aggravate, and get her to drop her defenses. She glanced up at him, not quite meeting his eyes as she thought this over.</p><p>“You… You’ve been acting like a bully to… to make a point?” She asked, wondering if she’d ever even seen the real Severus Snape. Was everything about him an act? Was he constantly putting on one facade or another to suit a purpose?</p><p>“No, Granger, I’ve been speaking my mind, because I simply don’t like you.” He said, his eyes narrowing, his lip curling in distaste. “I merely pointed out how your childish reaction would compare to someone more powerful, and more cruel.”</p><p>She stared into his eyes then, searching them for truth. Everything about him said he wasn’t lying, but she couldn’t shake the thought that even this was an act. He’d seemed to like her just fine in his Dream Fever. And he was a powerful Occlumens, used to lying directly to the Dark Lord. She wouldn’t stand a chance in figuring the truth out. Still, something didn’t seem right, and she pulled her eyes away, hoping to keep him out of her thoughts as she tried to put it together. It was like a puzzle she couldn’t see, and only had some vague guess about what the picture on it was. She needed more pieces, and better eyes.</p><p>“How can I get better at controlling my anger, then, Professor?” She asked, trying to keep a civil tone. He seemed to mull the question over for a moment.</p><p>“Don’t try to suppress it, that will never work properly. The best thing is to direct it at something else. Mislead anyone searching your mind, to believe the anger is focused on something else entirely.” Snape finally answered, making her nod slowly. Redirection. Seemed easy enough. She tried it out, recalling her previous ire with Snape, and trying to find something else to pin it on. He’d been berating her skills. Perfect! She could redirect it inward! Anyone would believe a person was angry with themself. Unless she WAS angry at herself, then she’d have to redirect it outward. She looked back at Snape as he rubbed the towel at his hair. He seemed angry all the time. Was he redirecting it? But it was aimed at her… Her eyes widened, as she stared at him, a cascade of thoughts happening like lightning. If he was redirecting his anger TOWARD her, then he was angry at something else. The only thing around besides HER for him to be angry with, was himself. Was he <i>always </i>furious with himself? And why? What made him so upset that he was always lashing out?</p><p>“Professor… Why are you so angry at yourself all the time?” She asked, turning her eyes downward, so she wouldn’t be intimidated by the glare she knew he was giving her.</p><p>“That’s absolutely none of your business, girl.” His voice dripped with venom, and she turned her face farther to hide her grin. She’d been right! “Soo bloody clever…” She heard him mumble with sarcasm, and chanced a look at his face. He was glaring at his pants as he dried them, rubbing vigorously at his shins, as though trying to scrub her observation away.</p><p>“Here, let me help.” Hermione offered, and turned, lifting her wand.</p><p>“I don’t need your help!” He snapped, waving a hand dismissively, and turning his back completely on her. Hermione sighed, and began drying his back, ignoring the way he grumbled peevishly at the tent wall. She couldn’t make out the words, but she was fairly certain he was insulting her again. She rolled her eyes, and continued trying to piece the puzzle together.</p><p>He was angry with himself, not her. So his earlier statement about hating her was probably a lie as well. He had plenty he could hate himself for, and she began going through a mental list, ordering her view of him slowly into shape. If she was him, she’d be angry that Voldemort had betrayed him, that <i>she’d </i>saved him, that he’d allowed himself to owe her a life-debt. She’d be angry that she was stuck teaching her. But she wasn’t an awful student, and she hadn’t asked him to repay his debt in a truly awful way, so there had to be something more. Was it really that he hated her? No, he was redirecting it from something else…</p><p>She barely noticed that he’d turned slightly, so she could dry more of him, so caught up in her thoughts was she. She didn’t notice the way he glanced down at her, his face completely blank, studying her lost in thought, and trying desperately to peer into her mind without his wand, or eye contact.</p><p>After his clothes were no longer soaking, she moved back, and tucked her wand away, still mulling over her suspicions.</p><p>“Perhaps you’d be better suited to learning both sides of the coin at once, Miss Granger.” Snape’s voice finally caught her attention, and she looked up, meeting a speculative black gaze, free of animosity.</p><p>“What do you mean?” She asked, confused by his sudden remark.</p><p>“I mean, perhaps I should teach you Legilimency as well, so you know exactly what you’re trying to guard against. You would, perhaps, understand better, with experience from the other side of the subject.” He answered, staring straight into her thoughts, reading them easily as she took it in.</p><p>“You… you’ll teach me Legilimency?” She asked, awed. She’d never even hoped for such a chance, but found the idea suddenly captivating. She wanted to learn this now, more than anything else. She was positive she was more than up to the task, though she knew it would be hard.</p><p>“I am willing to try.” He said, a familiar sneer encroaching on his features. “But before you get too excited, I must admit, I will not be able to get much farther in your lessons without use of a wand.”</p><p>The small smile that had been forming on her mouth slipped away, and she felt her mind grind to a halt. He’d need a wand? She wasn’t sure she trusted him enough for that yet. She looked at him, dearly wishing that she’d already been a Legilimens, and could read his thoughts, to determine if the offer was bait. Was he simply trying to get his wand back? Would he pretend to teach her, only to get away at his first opportunity?</p><p>“No, Miss Granger, that is not my goal.” Snape replied to her inner turmoil, his eyes still peering deeper than her own. “Though, without the lessons, there’s no way for you to be sure, is there?” He dangled the sentence in front of her like an even more tempting lure, and she studied him briefly.</p><p>“Even with the lessons, there’s no way for me to be sure, professor. You-Know-Who and Dumbledore were both more powerful Legilimens that I could ever hope to be, and you’ve managed to hide your true self from at least one of them. With your Occlumency skills, you could easily teach me Legilimency, and have no worries about your own agenda coming into the light.” Hermione voiced her thoughts, realizing there was absolutely no way for her to know for certain whether she could trust Severus Snape.</p><p>“Smart girl.” Snape said emotionlessly, only a brief jerk of an eyebrow giving away his surprise at her observations. “The only way to be sure of my intent, is to let it play out.” He said, smirking at her in a superior manner. She huffed, and turned away, breaking his contact with her thoughts, and thinking in private about the offer. Did she dare chance it? Legilimency would be a powerful tool in the war. But his return to Voldemort could be catastrophic. Did she even stand a chance of winning without his help? She doubted it. Half of her plan had hinged upon him switching sides, helping the Light regain their forces to finish the Dark Lord, once and for all. She could only get so far on her own. She needed his help, and without it, the war was lost already. If he was determined to rejoin Voldemort, he would do so eventually, regardless of her attempts to keep him away. All she had now was the opportunity for these lessons, and to bring him around to their side.</p><p>“Fine, you can have your wand back.” she finally said, feeling useless, and as though she’d played exactly into his plan. “I suppose you’d trick me into it eventually, anyway.” She muttered, grabbing her bag, and digging inside for a moment, pulling the thin black conduit out. She held it out, hand on her own wand, watching him carefully. Just because she’d agreed to it, didn’t mean she had to give up her defenses, or let him get away without a fight.</p><p>His pale fingers stretched outward slowly, and he plucked his wand from her palm, twirling it briefly, as though making sure it was still intact. He sat still, legs crossed, resting his elbows on his knees, and letting his wand dangle harmlessly in his fingers. Hermione realized when he didn’t attack her that she’d been expecting him to, without a doubt. She hadn’t expected at all for him to sit idly, looking almost bored, and… innocent. She sat opposite him, crossing her own legs, and meeting his gaze.</p><p>“What’s the first lesson?” She asked, trying to sound professional, and not at all apprehensive. Him having his wand back was making her stomach flip nervously, and she could barely pull her eyes away from where it hung in his grasp.</p><p>“The first lesson, is the incantation, wand movement, and intent.” He answered, lifting his wand, and pointing it at her. She held perfectly still, ready to shout a shield spell in an instant. “Simply point your wand. The incantation is easy to remember, ‘<i>Legilimens</i>’. It is the intent, and understanding behind it that is difficult to learn, and hone. To understand what you are doing, you must understand the mind. This is not as simple as some make it appear, it is not reading a mind as though it were a book, it is layered, structured, and complex.”</p><p>“Yes, I’ve studied a bit of muggle psychology, and I think I understand what you mean. There’s more than just what you’re thinking, there’s all different parts that make up those thoughts, and then there’s all the rest of the memories, and feelings underneath.”</p><p>“As crude a reference as it is, I suppose you’re correct.” Snape allowed, his wand falling back away from her direction. “There are many things to see in a mind, and finding the surface of those things can often be difficult, and nearly impossible to understand, when you do. If you’d allow me, I’d like to demonstrate the full effect of it on you, so you may experience just what you will be trying to learn.”</p><p>Hermione watched him for a moment, and nodded, remembering how shaky and weak Harry had been after his lessons. Would it be painful? Sickening? Snape lifted his wand again, his eyes meeting hers.</p><p>“Are you prepared, Miss Granger?” He asked, his face revealing nothing, and she gave a tiny nod, trying to hide her fear. “<i>Legilimens</i>!”</p><p>She was sucked away from the tent, right into her own memories. They seemed almost like a film at high-speed, until one caught, and she was watching her own childhood, unable to pull away from the scene of her own self, many years younger, sitting eagerly in a chair while her parents clutched her, listening to the explanation given by Professor McGonagall, as she delivered her letter, and broke the news to her parents. Hermione would be attending a school to learn witchcraft, in September. Her parents were worried, her father not believing at first, until Professor McGonagall summoned a tray of tea and biscuits out of thin air, offering the refreshments to Hermione and her parents. Hermione had been excited, for once feeling as though the oddness of her entire life was finally making sense, the confusion of strange happenings falling into place. She was a witch.</p><p>The scene changed with a fast blur, and she was on the train, sitting with Neville, chatting at him as he tried to keep hold of his toad. She’d heard Harry Potter was on the train, and was excited that she knew who that was. She’d already read all of her school books, and was eager to show her dedication to the classes. Trevor slipped from Neville’s fingers, and hopped right out the door, leaving Hermione and the pudgy boy to chase after him.</p><p>Hermione found herself running through a dark hallway with Neville, Harry, and Ron, pushing them aside to unlock a door, and escape trouble. They all scooted inside, and she knew what was in there now. Fluffy greeted them, and she found herself in another memory. Tea for the first time at Hagrid’s hut. She’d been amazed at the sheer size of everything.</p><p>The size of Madame Maxime and her horses had been a shock as well, and she found herself staring at the blue-clad witches and wizards from Beauxbatons as they entered Hogwarts for the Triwizard tournament. The same year she’d met Viktor. She tried hard not to think of him, but found herself looking up into his black eyes, as they danced, butterflies in her stomach, nervousness seeping from her every pore as the dark haired Bulgarian fawned over her. His eyes were almost as dark as Snape’s had been, as he stared down at her, oh no.</p><p>She was pulled to the memory of Snape leaning over her on her mum’s bed, his eyes burning as he told her to call him ‘professor’ again. She felt horror wash over her, realizing what Snape was witnessing through her mind. She had to shut him out. He’d already seen too much. He was leaning in to her, whispering in her ear, and she tried to cut off her emotions, and stop the memories. She was in a tent. She was NOT underneath him. Redirection, she tried, it’d never really happened. Just a fantasy…</p><p>She was yanked away, relieved for a split second, before she realized they were in the kitchen, her legs wrapped around him, his lips on hers-</p><p>She felt her face flaming as she braced herself against the floor of the tent, leaning over, staring in horror at Snape’s feet, unable to meet his eyes. He’d seen. He knew.</p><p>She was breathing heavily, and felt nauseous, worried, and violated. She’d been helpless to stop his assault on her mind. Even with as good as she’d gotten at clearing her mind, he’d still delved deeper, and deeper, finding just what she’d been trying to forget. He stayed silent. Too silent. She peeked up, trying to control her breath, and thoughts. He was staring down at her, his expression confused, and just as horrified as she felt. He looked almost angry, and she waited for him to speak, refusing to break the silence, and damn herself. If she said anything first, he’d know she was worried. She kept her eyes away from his, hoping he believed the lie about it being a fantasy.</p><p>“Do you feel you have a grasp on what you’ll be attempting to do?” He said, surprising her with the formality in his tone. She looked back up, finding his features schooled into blankness, back to teaching, as though he hadn’t seen anything.</p><p>“I… Yes.” She answered, swallowing, and trying to push the whole thing from her mind. If he was going to pretend it hadn’t happened, she could definitely cooperate. He’d said he didn’t remember, so what reason did he have to think it had actually happened?</p><p>“Then, whenever you’re ready.” He said, sitting comfortably, his face holding no worry. She nodded, and lifted her own wand.</p><p>“<i>Legilimens</i>!”</p><p>Nothing happened, and she frowned. She was still thinking about her own thoughts. No, she needed to think about his. She had to access his mind. She needed a goal. His childhood. Easy.</p><p>“<i>Legilimens</i>!” She said again, staring into his eyes, focusing as hard as she could on a child version of Snape. A miniature, with greasy black hair, and ill-fitting clothes, living in a dusty house, with rickety furniture. A small dark heap cowering in a corner, as a man yelled. A young boy on a playground, talking to a girl with red hair, showing her magic, and staring in wonder as she asked all sorts of questions. She was a witch, too, playing with flowers, jumping from swings, and she had a sister. They were going to go to Hogwarts together. They sat together on the train, his greasy black hair falling in his face as he and his best friend rode to their new home in excitement. There were other boys in their cabin, but he hardly paid them mind, his focus on the girl, Lily. He was in Slytherin, and his classes were tough, but he loved potions, and Lily was still his friend, even though she wore red and gold. He made new friends, too, but Lily didn’t approve. She was making friends too, and one boy in her year fancied her. James Potter. Teasing Severus, holding him upside down, Lily stalking away, laughter from onlookers-</p><p>“Enough!” Snape’s voice pulled Hermione back to the present, and she stared at him, realizing who she’d been staring at.</p><p>“You were friends with Harry’s mum?” She asked, the image strange to think about. Why had he been so cruel to Harry then? Because he was James’ child too, and James had been awful to him.</p><p>“That’s none of-” he paused, snapping his mouth shut, and looked away, his face flushed with anger at what she’d seen. “I was. Try again. This time, I’d like you to try and focus on one area, and hold that focus. Don’t get drawn away by the tide of my memories.” He said, the formal tone in his voice forced, and straining. Hermione nodded, and lifted her wand again. Focus on his childhood. Focus.</p><p>“<i>Legilimens</i>!”</p><p>She was pulled instantly back into the dusty house that she recognized as Spinner’s end. His father was yelling, and a dark haired woman cowered. The man lifted his hand, and the image changed, the park taking it’s place, Lily swinging, and jumping off, floating too-gently to the ground. Snape hid behind a bush, fascinated.</p><p>Hermione realized she’d changed memories, and focused again on the dusty house. One place, one memory. Don’t get swept away. The park vanished, and the boy wasn’t behind a bush, but behind a chair, hiding, as a slap reverberated through the room. His mother was on her hands and knees, crying, his father standing over her, still yelling. Severus was crying, too, holding a hand over his mouth, trying to stay quiet. He didn’t want to be found. She could feel the fear from him, the terror as his father lifted his hand again, yelling for the woman to be quiet. She whimpered, but managed to keep her lips locked together, looking up at him with pleading eyes, scrambling back to her feet, looking cowed, and meek. Severus hunkered farther behind his chair, as his father struck again, knocking the woman to the floor a second time.</p><p>The memory tried to pull away, but Hermione narrowed her eyes, staring at the little boy in the corner, focusing. She had to stay here. She had to see this. She had to keep her focus.</p><p>The elder Snape was pulling his belt from his pants, a vicious look in his eyes. Hermione felt horror from her own mind, as well as the memory, as he lifted the belt, and brought it down, hitting the woman once, twice. The small dark boy cried out, pulling the eyes of his father. He shrank away, his eyes wide, and his father stepped over the cowering woman, reaching for the boy. He was dragged from behind the chair, and tossed back to the floor, as the man lifted the belt, and brought it down harshly, across the back of the boy who’d curled in on himself for protection.</p><p>The memory faded, and though Hermione tried to hold on to it, to watch what happened next, it was pulled from her grasp. She found herself sitting once again in the tent, staring at a fully-grown Severus, whose eyes were no longer filled with terror, or pain. They held no emotion that she could see at all.</p><p>“I’m sorry…” Hermione mouthed, not sure she even made sound, but feeling as though she had to say it. It was the only thing she <i>could </i>say.</p><p>“Save it.” He said rudely, his lip curling harshly, his eyes narrowing. “You seem to be a quick study at Legilimency, Miss Granger. Perhaps you <i>will </i>manage to become adequate at it. Shall we move on?”</p><p>“Yes.” Hermione couldn’t push the image of little Snape being beaten from her mind, and looked away from his eyes, not wanting to share her thoughts with him.</p><p>“Cast the charm, but do not delve so deeply. Try to find where my thoughts are now, and stay there, studying what I’m thinking, as I speak.”</p><p>“As you speak?” Hermione asked, feeling as though he’d skipped a step.</p><p>“Yes, Granger. I will be speaking, and I expect you to listen to what I say, as well as decipher my thoughts. Can you manage that?” His tone was challenging, mocking, and she nodded, instantly burning with resolve to show him she wasn’t an idiot.</p><p>“Very well; Wolfsbane, or aconite, or monkshood, has certain properties…”</p><p>“<i>Legilimens</i>.” Hermione entered his thoughts, and was pulled instantly to the dusty old house, where a man sat in a chair, barking for his wife to bring him his coat. He was going out. This was the past. He was speaking about wolfbane right now. She could hear his voice, lecturing on its toxicity, and uses in potions. She focused on his words, trying to bring herself to that part of his thoughts.</p><p>“Though the leaves are toxic, the roots and flower are often used in potions…”</p><p><i>“Though if you eat any part of it, unbrewed, it’s all toxic.”</i> She saw images flash through his mind of the results of eating the plant. The plant itself, and a werewolf.</p><p><i>“Aconite is often used in the Wolfsbane Potion,”</i> more werewolves, Lupin’s face, a cauldron with steam rising from it, <i>“It is also an ingredient used for making Wideye Potions.”</i> she saw the green potion he meant, and felt his memories of it’s effects. Instant alertness, if a bit jittery. <i>“It can be found on wild mountains, and fields, mostly in Scotland, and one should wear gloves when harvesting or working with the plant, as the poisons may linger on your skin, and await accidental ingestion.”</i></p><p>Hermione pulled away as his voice trailed to a stop, his black eyes coming back into focus as she rejoined him.</p><p>“Miss Granger, what color is the aconite flower?” Snape said, his voice holding the tone of one giving a quiz.</p><p>“Violet, sometimes blue.”</p><p>“And what would happen if you were to eat the leaves of this plant?”</p><p>“You’d be poisoned, and likely die.” She answered.</p><p>“What is a defining characteristic of a Wideye potion?”</p><p>“It’s bluish green, sparkles slightly, and the smoke shimmers.”</p><p>“And, Miss Granger, would you be more likely to find aconite in the sun, or shade?”</p><p>“The sun.”</p><p>“I’d offer you points, but that’s hardly applicable.” He said with a smirk, his voice mocking. She nodded, taking it as a compliment.</p><p>“Now, I’d like for you to try entering in the same fashion, without using the incantation, or pointing your wand.” She sat up straighter, and tucked her hands in her lap, staring deeply into his eyes.</p><p>“Whenever you’re ready.” He said, nodding slightly. Hermione focused as hard as she could into his eyes, trying to pick up on what was behind them. What was he thinking? Her eyes narrowed with concentration, and she saw a brief flash of brown. Brown? She put the curiosity from her mind, thinking instead of what else she could find. Pink. Brown. Green. Black. Dark Brown. Black. The soft sound of rain. The smell of shampoo. Brown. Green. Pink. Soft. A purple group of flowers. A forest. Rain.</p><p>Each came slowly, as though traveling through mud, with long pauses of his black eyes in between. She broke eye contact, and slouched a little, shaking her head to clear the strange thoughts from it.</p><p>“What did you find, Granger?” He asked, his voice quiet, expectant.</p><p>“Mostly colors. A few smells. I could hear the rain, inside your mind.” She said, smiling, remembering how it’s sounded slightly different. Louder. “I saw aconite, and the forest, but it was mostly pink, and brown, and green. I think that was the forest as well.” She guessed, trying to place the pink. Possibly a flower he’d seen?</p><p>“Fine. It’s getting late, that’ll be all for today.” He said, ending the lesson abruptly, and turning away. He began pulling his boots off, and she reached for her own shoes, deciding she might as well try for some sleep. If he was going to attempt an escape, he’d likely do it then, and not be expecting her to still be awake, unable to sleep as she’d been so frequently since the war had started.</p><p>She lay down on her bedroll, lying on her back and closing her eyes, listening to the sounds of him settling in across the small space. Her expansion charm had left the tent hardly more than two meters square, and she hadn’t realized how small of a space it was until the sounds of him rustling blankets sounded deafening. Her mind was drawn back to what he’d seen in her memories, and she felt her face redden at the thought of lying so near him after that. If he thought it was real, he’d likely feel guilty, or disgusted. If he thought it was a fantasy, she imaged he felt disgusted, and on edge. Was he waiting for her to jump at him, the same way she’d been waiting for him to attack her while he was fevered? Had he felt how much she’d enjoyed it? She hoped he hadn’t.</p><p>When the rustling stopped, she closed her eyes, and focused on her breathing, trying to feign sleep, while her mind ran amok. What she wouldn’t give to see into his mind, and ask about the Dream Fever. Things she hadn’t pondered since he’d been cured were popping up in her mind, and she found herself wondering, unable to quash every thought. Dream Fevers made one believe they were in a dream, that nothing they did or said was real. When unconscious, the dreams just kept going, hyper-realistic, and indiscernible from reality to the patient. He’d said the dreams were always so realistic. Had he dreamed of her before? Had he dreamt of kissing her before?</p><p>She could hear his breathing from across the tent, and she found the slow quiet sound relaxing, comforting. Her mind began to drift, following the sound of his deep breaths to a deeper dreamland, filled with black eyes, kisses, and hands that burned her skin.</p>
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<a name="section0005"><h2>5. The Unfiltered Truth</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Hermione wandered down the darkening Diagon Alley, her hood up, and eyes darting back and forth nervously. She had glamoured her face to look entirely different, but was still nervous that someone would see through the magic and the waning dusk light. She fought her terror as she passed a black-clad witch, and made her way into Flourish and Blotts.</p><p>Snape had stayed behind to guard the campsite, and she’d left him his wand, feeling after three weeks of him being cooperative, and non-violent, that she might actually be able to trust him. She’d been practicing her Legilimency every day, every time they spoke, trying to see if he lied, or gave anything away. She’d learned that his Occlumency was better than she’d even thought possible. He was able to let her see into his mind, and feed her information as she perused, making her whole venture useless, as she learned nothing he didn’t allow. It’d been a trying few weeks, attempting to accurately interpret the mind of such a skilled Occlumens, but she felt as though she was at least getting the hang of sifting through thoughts, while holding a conversation normally.</p><p>Along with her errands today, she was practicing on other people, and as she took a few books, and inkwells to the counter, she met the sales wizard’s eyes with a small smile. She could see her own face briefly, and feel his revulsion as he turned his eyes quickly away. <i>‘Good.’</i> She thought, smiling a little brighter. She’d added a giant mole to just under her eye, and opened the pores in her nose wider, in addition to her disguising changes. It kept people from looking at her too hard, or staring too long.</p><p>“Will this be all for you today, miss?” He asked, his fingers ringing her up on the register.</p><p>“Actually, do you have a copy of today’s Daily Prophet? I’ve been on holiday a few weeks.” She said, setting her purse on the counter, and pulling out a the amount she owed, careful to keep her guilt from showing. She’d had to steal the money, and couldn’t let on that it wasn’t rightfully hers to spend.</p><p>“Here you are. I’ve already finished with it, so you can keep it.” He said, barely glancing at her, as he tossed a newspaper on top of her meager supplies.</p><p>“Thank you so much.” She said, reading apprehension in his eyes in that brief glance. She quickly gathered her things and left, deciding not to push her luck too much. Perhaps the pores were a bit much…</p><p>“Hey there, missy! Care for a dragon amulet? It’ll repel curses, and heat up when you’re in danger. Only seven sickles! Quite a deal!” A man had shoved himself in front of her, blocking her path, and she stopped dead in her tracks, looking into his eyes, and seeing the drab metal necklaces being dunked into a nasty looking potion. The potion would slowly wear off of the amulet as you wore it, and soak into the wearer’s skin, leaving them unconscious, and helpless.</p><p>“No thank you.” She managed, and searched deeper. There was something else…</p><p>A tracking charm on each amulet. The faces of several women, and a nasty string of thoughts from the man himself as he looked over Hermione. He didn’t seem too turned off by her charmed face, and instead leered at her hips and breasts, until she pulled her cloak tighter, feeling a wash of fury at what he was doing, with his eyes, and his merchandise.</p><p>“I’ll lower the price for ya, miss! Three sickles! That’s a steal! You can’t find protection like this nowhere else!” The man pushed, jangling a handful of the necklaces at her. He would offer to give her one for free if she were prettier. She glared at him, torn by her desire to stop him from endangering future women, and to stay unnoticed. She couldn’t be caught. She’d end up in Azkaban, with Ron. The last Prophet she’d read had told her he’d been locked away, without a trial.</p><p>“I said no thank you.” Hermione insisted, trying to step around the man, her hand slipping into her pocket, latching onto her wand, as the man blocked her again.</p><p>“Alright, for a dove as charming as yourself, I’ll give it to ya for one single sickle. Whaddya say ta that?” He asked, his eyebrows lifting hopefully. She could hear words in his mind, insulting her, calling her a cow, insisting she’d get what she deserved for being so stingy.</p><p>“I still say no. Let me pass.” Hermione said, glaring, her voice lowering dangerously. She tried her best to copy Snape’s most intimidating tone.</p><p>“Alright, alright. No need to get yourself in knots.” The man said, backing into the shade of a shop’s awning, glaring at her for a moment, before turning to look for another victim. Hermione looked around, and pointed her wand at the amulets in the man’s hand, casting a nonverbal spell, and hurried along down the street before he could realize what she’d done.</p><p>“WHAT THE BLOODY HELL!?” His voice rang through the street, and she kept her head down, disappearing into an alley as the man’s screams of indignation and fury continued. His merchandise had just melted onto his boots, leaving him without wares, and as the metal cooled, stuck to the cobblestones.</p><p>Hermione hurried down the alley, and spun, disapparating, and sighing with relief as the Forest of Dean lay out around her, providing protection, and familiarity. She walked back to their campsite, and felt her stomach twist with a strange relief as she saw Snape standing by the table, waving his wand at a cauldron over the fire.</p><p>“It went well?” He didn’t bother turning as she approached, his wand moving in a circular motion.</p><p>“It did.” Hermione said, not bothering to mention the peddler she’d muzzled.</p><p>“Good. Find the page in ‘<i>Magical Maps and Atlases</i>’ with Wales, and leave it open on the table. I’ll have a look when I’m done here.” He said, waving his hand to the table. Hermione sat, letting her purchases slide to the wooden surface, and grabbed the book she needed, finding the page quickly, and sliding it toward him, before pulling the Daily Prophet over, and reading through it.</p><p>“Anything interesting?” Snape asked, his eyes sweeping over her as he looked back, tucking his wand into his belt, and sitting across from her, the book of maps in his hand.</p><p>“The Malfoys went on trial.” She said, her eyes moving at lightning speed, soaking up the information printed on the pages. “Lucius Malfoy allowed a probationary pardon, Narcissa Malfoy sentenced to death, and their son, Draco, sentenced to ten years in Azkaban Prison.” She read aloud, feeling nauseous at the thought. That was two of her classmates locked up that she knew of.</p><p>“Criminals Hermione Granger, Neville Longbottom, and Ginny Weasley still at large, wanted for warmongering, wanton destruction, and aiding known ministry opposer, the late Harry Potter.”</p><p>“Well, they’re not wrong, I suppose. Though they’re hardly any better…” Snape mused, his eyes roving the maps of Wales, his finger trailing along the page.</p><p>“Oh, listen to this: ‘Headmaster Severus Snape declared dead, after a month missing. Officials state a new Headmaster for Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry has already been selected, and will be announced at the end of May, when the school year officially ends. Until that time, Deputy Headmaster Amycus Carrow will continue as a stand-in for the to-be-announced Headmaster.”</p><p>“Dead, am I? I must’ve missed the notice.” Snape’s cool sarcasm was unexpected, and made Hermione laugh out loud. She clapped a hand over her mouth to stifle the giggle, and raisedthe newspaper to block his lifting gaze.</p><p>He’d seemed a bit more lax since he’d begun teaching her Legilimency, and he’d let slip humorous quips on a few rare occasions, each time taking her completely by surprise. She hadn’t even realized he had the capacity for humor in any form. To find him nearly making jokes was as strange as it was humanizing. It made her see him differently, and she had no desire to let him know that he was no longer the fearsome evil gargoyle she’d been terrified of in school. He still sometimes tried to affect that demeanor, and she did her best to play the part of a frightened school child, for no other reason that to make him feel as though things were normal. She’d found that he only pulled his nastiness out when he felt things were getting too friendly. She sometimes wondered if he was actually afraid of letting someone actually see him for who he was, and had searched his mind countless times, looking, but had only run into what he’d let her.</p><p>“Granger, if you’re going to choke, please do so quietly. I’ve no wish for your demise to distract me from this search.” He said with a nasty tone, and she grinned at the paper, seeing his spite for the barrier it was. She hid her amusement with a paper, he hid his with bitterness. She’d almost gotten used to it, but chose to reply in kind, letting him barricade himself behind walls of scorn.</p><p>“I’ll try to die quietly, then, Professor.” She snapped back, keeping her smile from her voice, and focusing again on the words of the paper. The rest of it seemed to be useless, and she set it aside, her face finally calm, and relaxed as she peered over at Snape’s trailing finger.</p><p>“I’ve found a few places for us to look into, we can begin our search tomorrow.” Snape said, tapping his black wand against the page, to mark his place before snapping the book closed. Hermione let him see her small smile then, glad that he’d agreed to help her find a more suitable location for them to hide than a tent in the forest. It was pure luck that they hadn’t been spotted by snatchers yet.</p><p>“Alright. What’re you making then?” She asked, looking at the cauldron that simmered over their campfire. It was a small pewter cauldron, and inside was a thick brown substance with orange lumps.</p><p>“Stew. I wasn’t sure I could stomach another can of mystery food, so I took it upon myself to make dinner tonight.” He said, standing, and waving his wand at it, so it slowly stirred itself, releasing a delicious aroma of cooking vegetables, and meat. Hermione’s mouth watered, and she moved closer, feeling her stomach twist with hunger. She needed to do some food shopping, she admitted. Especially if she could convince Snape to cook more frequently.</p><p>“I never was much good at cooking…” Hermione admitted with a blush, sniffing the air as the stew circled the pot. It smelled absolutely amazing.</p><p>“Why am I not surprised?” Snape drawled, giving her a provoking look. She made a face back at him, and stuck her hands on her hips, keeping eye contact, trying to decode what she found in his thoughts. There were instant memories of hundreds of potions, and students, and herself in his classroom. There was a prickly feeling, which she took for his animosity, and general distemper. There was something else beyond that, that she couldn’t quite get to, as though there was a chasm between these thoughts, and something deeper. She’d found herself cut off in such a fashion before, his Occlumency keeping her far from what he wanted to remain hidden. She felt a twinge of surprise that she’d realized there was anything <i>more</i> there at all. Usually, she could only feel what he presented to her. She smirked, realizing she was getting better at searching his mind.</p><p>“You’d say the same thing, even if I <i>could </i>cook. Only then, you’d add a comment about me being a know-it-all on top.” She snarked, having heard the word drift on the images.</p><p>“Ah, Miss Granger, but it would be true, either way.” Snape said, giving her an unimpressed stare, and she could tell he was doing the exact same thing to her own thoughts. Only he was much better, and she was still pants at Occlumency. “I would fail to be surprised to find you suddenly with an extra head. Perhaps I’m just too seasoned at experiencing the unexpected.” He shrugged, and waved his wand, summoning bowls from the tent. With another wave, the stew was ladled, and the bowls on the table. Hermione sat eagerly, glad for Snape’s efforts, even if she couldn’t tell him. She dug right in, enjoying the flavors after a month of canned soups, and dinners. She didn’t ask where he’d gotten the ingredients, deciding she’d rather not know exactly what meat was in the stew, or summon any more sarcastic comments from him.</p><p>“Thank you for making this. It’s delicious.” She said after a few bites, glancing at his face only briefly, before he could meet her eyes.</p><p>“You’re welcome.” He said, no venom in his tone, making her look back up in shock. She wasn’t sure he’d ever been quite so polite. She knew he was looking through her mind, but didn’t mind in that moment, as she searched his, trying desperately to get past his barriers, and finally understand which side of him was real.</p><p>“Are you sure you’re Severus Snape?” She asked with feigned suspicion. She knew from his thoughts, and the fact that she couldn’t get very far in them, that it was the real him. He broke eye contact, ending her investigation, and his own.</p><p>“Perhaps not. Would you like me to prove it?” He asked, his voice back to its regular mocking, waspish tone. It was more rhetorical than an actual offer, but she replied anyway.</p><p>“Sure. Prove you’re Snape.” She took another bite of stew, proving that she didn’t need the verification, but stared into his black glare, daring him to refuse.</p><p>“Last time I had to clarify that, I belief wolfsbane was a key factor. It is also what I spoke on when I began teaching you Legilimency. Satisfied?” He asked derisively, giving a roll of his eyes as he lowered his head. Hermione smirked to herself, and took another bite, letting the conversation fall away.</p><p>Her spoon scraped the bottom of the bowl, and she sat back, feeling well-fed, and content. She pulled out her wand and cleaned her bowl and spoon, standing to put them back in the tent.</p><p>“Are you ready for this evening’s practice?” Snape asked from the table, as Hermione straightened up, stretching her back slightly.</p><p>“As ready as ever.” Hermione allowed, sitting opposite him once again. He pulled out his wand, and held it comfortably, waiting for her signal. She took a deep breath, and gave a slight nod, trying to clear her mind, and leave it totally blank.</p><p>“Legilimens.” Snape uttered, making the table and forest disappear, leaving a calm blackness in its place as Severus entered her thoughts completely. She managed to hold the thoughtless state for a few minutes, as he poked around, trying to pierce the box of calm. Finally, Hermione made a mistake, hearing a branch crunch somewhere in the forest, her mind instantly going to the possible dangers. It gave him all the opening he needed to peer deeper, following her trail of thought, and memory.</p><p>She was pulled away from the worry of Death Eaters, right into the Battle of Hogwarts, the witches and wizards clashing all around as she, Harry, and Ron tried to find the last horcrux. Hermione tried valiantly to pull away from the terror-filled memory, but it held fast, and she watched as the scenes replayed, one by one. She saw Lavender being ravaged, Harry ducking a curse, Death Eaters swarming all over the corridors, and the shrieking shack. She saw with renewed horror as Nagini tore open Snape’s neck, and left him bleeding on the floor, for Harry to gather the memories from. Hermione saw the silvery white strands, and pushed back, whispering her own spell, and breaking into Snape’s unsuspecting mind.</p><p>He was thinking about what he’d shown Harry with those memories, and Hermione saw and felt the flashes of emotion. Some were familiar, the young Lily from his childhood, James Potter sneering at him. Others he hadn’t allowed her to before, Dumbledore was there, and a feeling of absolute despair washed over her. Lily was in danger. Dumbledore could save her. He had to. Lily was dead. The Dark Lord had been defeated, and Severus Snape sat curled in on himself in Dumbledore’s office, full of heart-wrenching misery. The only person he’d ever cared for was gone. Dumbledore was speaking to him, but he could barely hear him, until something he said caught Snape’s attention.</p><p>Harry Potter had survived. Voldemort had failed to kill him. He needed protection.</p><p>“No one can know.” Snape demanded, and Dumbledore nodded, allowing him his spite, and secrets. No one could ever know. Years between memories, Harry attending school, Snape’s efforts to help him, protect him. Harry’s apparent lack of concern for his own well-being. He had Lily’s eyes. It was stunning. Snape speaking with Dumbledore again. Malfoy had been given a mission by the Dark Lord. He was ordered to kill Dumbledore. Albus was pleading with him to take the burden from the boy. The curse would kill him anyway, and Snape would be doing him a favor. Snape agreed. He would take Dumbledore’s life, and spare Malfoy’s soul.</p><p>There was the Sword of Gryffindor, hidden in a pond, a doe patronus, the battle, Voldemort, Harry’s eyes as Snape inched toward death. Small snippets of pain, potions, brown eyes, bushy hair. A savior, laying him on a soft bed, forcing pills down his throat. Soft skin under his lips, and a quiet moan. Legs tangled together, and fierce kisses, the real indiscernible from the dream. He remembered lifting her onto the counter, grinding into her, biting at her neck. Suddenly, the memories jerked in the opposite direction, and Hermione could feel Snape’s current, and very real fear. He didn’t want her to see this. He was trying to shut his thoughts down, but she was already seeing the memories, the dreams he’d been hiding, trying to forget.</p><p>Hermione’s hair was frizzy as she bent over a cauldron, her sharp eyes following Neville’s progress as well as her own, Harry’s and Ron’s. Snape felt a grudging appreciation for her talent at multitasking. Hermione’s eyes blazing with passion as she fought for house elf rights. Her wand waving as she completed spells effortlessly, charming things, cursing Death Eaters, and helping her friends. She reminded him of Lily, her fierceness, her intelligence, her loyalty. Her bravery. She wasn’t bad to look at either, and she found herself drawn to the very memories he was trying to avoid, dreams that plagued him as soon as he cursed himself with the thought of her as a woman. He dreamt wonderful things, kissing her, holding her, and telling her his secrets. The awful things seemed almost as nice, the biting, hair-pulling, and near violence of some of his passions. Snape’s horror at what she was witnessing was like a blanket over his mind, his terror of what was to come pulling them instantly to it. A dark room, quick, labored breaths, and a sublime feeling. His arm was moving swiftly, and Hermione realized what she was experiencing with a shock. His hand was wrapped around an erection, thinking something awful. She saw snippets of his fantasy, and felt a rush of lust, as his own was made obvious. She pulled away, reeling, thinking back to how he’d said the dreams were always so vivid. He’d thought he was in a normal dream, and if she hadn’t stopped him, he wouldn’t have just been kissing her. She barely realized she was still staring into his black eyes until he stood, breaking the connection, and storming away.</p><p>He was furious, and Hermione was after him in an instant calling him back.</p><p>“Wait! I’m sorry, I didn’t mean-”</p><p>“Didn’t mean to what, exactly, Granger? What have you done that warrants an apology?” He snapped, not turning around, but stalking farther into the night-filled forest, his long strides forcing her to jog to keep up.</p><p>“I shouldn’t have read your mind! It was wrong, I’m sorry! I didn’t think… I just wanted to know what you showed Harry!” Hermione tried to excuse her actions, but felt the guilt anyway. She’d seen much more than she’d hoped, and could understand his anger with her.</p><p>“And now you HAVE seen, Granger. You’ve seen everything you could ever possibly want to see about me.” He spun on her, his face furious, his hands balled into fists, and Hermione was brought up short by the look on his face. “So? What’s your verdict?”</p><p>“Sorry, what?” She asked, confused, staring into his black, bitter eyes.</p><p>“You’ve been on the fence about where I stand from day one, Granger. Now that you know everything, with Lily, and Albus, and the war, what’s your decision? Are you going to put your trust in me? Or has that been destroyed by the other memories?” His face twisted as he said it, sneering at his own thoughts as though they left a bad taste in his mouth. Hermione felt her face heat bright red at the mention of what she’d pulled away from.</p><p>“I… Dumbledore trusted you, so why shouldn’t I?” She asked, lowering her eyes. She didn’t want him to see her own memories, or read her apprehension. He might have fantasized about her, but he’d never acted on it. Well, without the fever, but she was still trying to pretend that had never happened.</p><p>“Why shouldn’t you trust me?” He echoed derisively, taking a step closer to her. She watched his feet, as he brought himself right up to her. Hermione tried to tiptoe away, and felt the tree in her way, pressing her back into it as Snape’s hand reached out and grabbed her face roughly, lifting her gaze to his. “You saw, Granger. Can you really put your faith in a man that thinks that way about his students? Can you <i>truly </i>trust me not to hurt you? I know you’ve been trying to hide it from me, but I saw the truth just then, too. I’ve already forced myself on you once, what makes you think I won’t do it again?” He threatened, his voice low, and dangerous.</p><p>Hermione stared into inky pools of anger, habitually seeing past them as he spoke, noticing how his guards were up, but they seemed lacking, as though he was distracted, and worn down. He was angrier than he was even showing. He wanted to hit, and curse, and scream. She could practically see the redirection, where his thoughts cut off abruptly, and shot at her meanly, shouting awful insults in his head. But they weren’t directed at her. They were coming at her, to keep her from seeing what was underneath. She didn’t have to see it to know that he was angry with himself.</p><p>“Professor, you were fevered, it doesn’t count.” She tried to argue,  hoping she could assuage his guilt. She hadn’t minded it so much, besides feeling guilty about Ron. If he did attack her again, would she <i>really </i>mind so much? It certainly wasn’t a reason for her to fear him.</p><p>“Granger, stop that this instant. You will NOT lie to me, just to make me <i>feel better</i>.” He sneered, grabbing her shoulders and giving her a single shake.</p><p>“Lie to you? You were fevered, professor!” She argued, her own hands balling into fists at his blindness. She felt her own anger rising, and tried desperately to calm her mind. He was staring into her eyes, he could see her emotions, and thoughts. She had to get control before he saw-</p><p>“Not that, Granger, the other. You didn’t <i>mind</i>? I nearly assaulted you, and you try to make it seem as though it was <i>enjoyable</i>!?” He spat at her, dropping her shoulders, and fixing her with a nasty glare.</p><p>“That wasn’t a lie!” Hermione shot back angrily, equal parts upset that he’d heard it at all, and that he thought it was her way of sparing him.</p><p>His hands were on her again in an instant, lifting her against the tree, and pushing himself between her legs. He pinned her back to the bark, and captured her lips in his, kissing her viciously, as his fingers dug into her thighs. She gripped his shoulders in fear that she’d fall, wrapping her legs around him for stability, but found her arms twining around his neck, her head tilting to the side as he nipped at her lip, and slid his tongue against hers. She was lost in the feel of him again, enjoying the way he pressed into her, trapping her against the tree, and taking her breath away with his onslaught.</p><p>“Is this what you <i>want</i>, Granger? An old man to force his disgusting desires on you?” His lips were against hers as he spoke, leaving her no room to think, or reply until he pulled away, looking into her face, and searching her eyes with a piercing stare. She took deep gulping breaths, trying to form a response to his question.</p><p>“You’re not ‘old’. You can’t be more than forty.” She said, feeling slightly silly that that was her first argument. Shouldn’t she be agreeing with him, telling him to get away?</p><p>“I’m more than twice your age, Granger. Old enough to be your father. You saw the things I fantasize about. Is that what you crave?” He ground his hips into hers for emphasis, staring into her eyes with triumph, and antagonism, expecting her to pull away any moment, to push at him, or scream. She stared back into his eyes, still wrapped around him, her face flushed, and her lips swollen from his violent snogging.</p><p>She couldn’t say no, but neither could she bring herself to say yes. She couldn’t deny she wanted this, it was obvious in the way her heart hammered, and her lungs refused to hold air. She could easily recall what she’d seen of his fantasies, and it made her want to squirm with embarrassment, and curiosity. She could also recall her kiss with Ron. Her determination to save him from Azkaban. She remembered that Snape really WAS old enough to be her father. And with him inches from her, but not kissing her mind into oblivion, she could feel her very real fear. The fear of her first time. No matter how much she liked this, she was still a virgin, and that brought up it’s own entire category or arguments.</p><p>Snape’s fingers slipped from her thighs, and she found herself sliding back to the ground, her legs shaky as she watched him pull away from her, his face twisting with guilt.</p><p>“Don’t worry, I’m not going to steal your innocence here, against a bloody tree.” He muttered, turning away to stalk back toward the camp in darkness. Hermione leaned against the tree for support, her breath finally filling her lungs, but her heart refusing to slow as she stared into the darkness of the forest, the blood rushing through her making the warm night uncomfortable.</p><p>She slid to the ground, her hair catching painfully on the bark as she went. She wrapped her arms around her knees, and tried to process the evening, and everything she’d experienced. Everything kept swirling around in her mind, revolving around one confusing question. Could she trust Snape? She just wasn’t sure. It seemed for a moment as though she could, and then he seemed intent on making it impossible for her to do so. Was it another barrier he was building, to keep himself hidden from those around him? She was certain it was, at least in part, that.</p><p>She needed to speak to him to put the question to rest, but she was in no fit state to speak to anyone, <i>especially </i>him. She wasn’t sure she’d be able to converse in a level-headed manner after what had just happened. The burning between her legs was no help either; it begged for release, for the return of his rubbing body, and crushing lips. Regardless of her feelings for Ron, Snape seemed to be evoking a very passionate, and primitive response in her. Could she handle being around him, when her body seemed intent on betraying her?</p><p>She leaned her head back against the tree in frustration, getting nowhere with her thoughts. It was much too hard to think through the memory of him pressed into her, the insistent and heated desire that pulsed through her blood. She slid her hand between her legs, cupping her jeans, and trying desperately to relieve the pressure that seemed to be growing, rather than dissipating. The relief was instant, and her eyes fluttered closed, as she pressed a little harder, tilting her hips into the feeling. She found her hand rubbing slightly up and down, and snapped her eyes open with a growl, realizing what she was doing.</p><p>She stood, and glanced around, wary for anyone watching. She’d be mortified if anyone caught her touching herself so openly. Especially Snape. She sighed, shaking her head, and began heading back toward their campsite. She would have plenty of time to sort out her sexual frustrations, and sudden cravings <i>after </i>she sorted out the puzzle of which Snape she’d experienced was the real one, if any, and <i>after </i>they found a more secure hideaway.</p>
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<a name="section0006"><h2>6. A Natural Talent</h2></a>
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    <p>She came upon the tent quickly, and took a deep, steadying breath before entering.</p><p>“Oh, you didn’t run away like a frightened mouse? Impressive.” Snape’s voice was soaked with sarcasm and scorn. She ignored him, and sat on her bedroll, stretching her legs out, and trying to similarly ignore the persistent burn of need between her legs.</p><p>“You asked if I could trust you.” Hermione started, lifting her gaze to his face, to find him avoiding her eyes. “Well Dumbledore trusted you, and even though you’ve been nothing but rude this past month, you haven’t done anything to disprove his trust in you.” Hermione considered aloud. Snape made a disagreeing huff, which she also disregarded.</p><p>“You’ve been very helpful with my lessons, and haven’t tried to hurt me, so I think you are trustworthy, Professor.” She stated, folding her arms across her chest.</p><p>“Don’t call me that.” Snape’s quiet voice was matched by a hateful glare. Hermione narrowed her eyes at him, trying to read his thoughts, and found only the blackness of his eyes, and a burning animosity.</p><p>“Don’t call you ‘professor’?” She asked, confused. “Why?”</p><p>“I’ve more than lost the privilege of being anyone’s professor ever again.” Snape snapped, his face snarling, his eyes flashing, and his mind swirling with an emotion she recognized as regret. Or Guilt?</p><p>“That’s ridiculous. You’re teaching me, therefore you’re my professor, regardless of what’s happened.” She tried to reason with him, and tried to match his mocking tone. “What else would I call you, anyway? ‘Severus’?”</p><p>“Don’t call me that, either!”  He growled, his black eyes glaring death at her.</p><p>“I hadn’t actually planned on it.” Hermione shot back, feeling her ire rise at his difficulty. She could feel a sharp stinging, and wasn’t sure if it was from his mind, or her own anger.</p><p>“Well then, what <i>am </i>I allowed to call you, <i>Professor</i>?” She bit out the title like an insult, his black stare reminding her of his comment from weeks ago. His Dream-Fevered purr that he <i>liked </i>the sound of her calling him professor. She knew he could hear the memory with his own Legilimency, and pushed harder at his thoughts, trying to break through the hatred that seemed to fill him. His thoughts were different than normal, a vortex rather than a flow, comprised of swirling layers, barriers, quick flashes of emotion.</p><p>The outermost whirlwind was pure malice, nearly painful in its intensity, but beyond that, there was lust, burning just as hot as if he still had her pinned to a tree. Deeper still, she could feel his anxiety, sorrow, and self-condemnation. There were flashes of red, green, brown. Then a wall came from nowhere, slamming between her and his thoughts with almost physical force, returning her eyes to focus on his, which were narrowed nearly to slits, his lips curled with anger.</p><p>“I’m beginning to regret teaching you Legilimency, Granger.” He snapped, his voice dripping poison, his hands shaking in balled fists.</p><p>“I don’t regret it at all. It seems to be the only way I can ever tell what’s <i>real </i>with you!” She hissed back, feeling as though that whole night she’d seen more of the authentic Severus Snape than she had in seven years. His face morphed into a nasty smile, holding a lifetime’s supply of spite, and a victorious gleam.</p><p>“Are you certain of that?” He asked, his voice suddenly calm, his hands smoothing flat across his knees. Hermione stared hard at him, trying desperately to penetrate his mind, only to meet the same blank wall. He wasn’t even supplying her with false thoughts, simply cutting her off entirely from himself.</p><p>“I am. You wouldn’t be so upset it it were just another test.” She declared, certain of herself. “You’ve gotten control of yourself now, but earlier, you were completely accessible.” She stared into his eyes, searching for some way around the wall. She’d seen the truth of him, and didn’t like that he was putting on another facade.</p><p>His eyes broke away, ending her attempted assault on his mind, and she fingered her wand, considering using the more powerful spell to break in. Her fingers slid to the floor, the idea discarded. He was already incensed, it would do her no good to anger him any further by ignoring his clear wish for mental privacy.  It had been some unspoken rule of her lessons in Legilimency, that if either looked away from the non-verbal magic, they wouldn’t pry further. She’d never used the powerful version against him except in lessons, and couldn’t help feeling that it would be a violation.</p><p>She looked away as well, taking a few deep breaths, trying to calm her own irritation. She decided to fall back to her usual role as inquiring student.</p><p>“Prof-” She stopped the word midway out of her mouth, seeing the flick of his eyes in her direction, and his fingers tighten infinitesimally on his wand. “I know what I saw was the truth. What I’d <i>like </i>to know is how I was able to see it. I’ve never bested your occlumency before.” She looked to the floor of the tent, waiting to see if he’d answer or pretend she didn’t exist.</p><p>“True, I’m a very skilled occlumens, but being constantly on guard around a powerful Legilimens for an extended time is taxing.” He bit out, sounding still irate, but willing at least to answer.</p><p>“I don’t understand. It’s just been me here, and I’m not even that good at it.” She frowned up at him, suddenly suspicious that there’d been someone lurking around camp.</p><p>“You stupid girl!” He turned to face her again, his eyes full of frustration. “The fact that you’ve come so far so quickly is proof enough of your ability. You really think getting to your level in a mere month is normal? It takes years to achieve what you’ve done, Granger. Years!”</p><p>Hermione sat back, stricken by his words, stunned into silence by his sour admission. It was the first real recognition he’d offered that she wasn’t a lackluster halfwit, and the truth in his statement offered her a strange sense of pride. She wasn’t just getting practiced at entering minds. She was <i>talented</i>. The word came to her from his own black thoughts, and she looked away again, breaking the contact.</p><p>“I’m honestly surprised you’ve never discovered this until now. Have you never tried Legilimency before our lessons?” Snape asked, his tone cutting, and critical.</p><p>“No.” She shook her head, remembering everything she’d read on it, and her own decision not to try it alone. It was supposed to be difficult, and intrusive. She’d had no one to practice with even if she had wanted to try. She chanced a look at him, seeing  his eyes still aimed at her, ready to enter her own mind if she met them.</p><p>“You’ve already matched my own ability with the spell, Granger. Were it not for my superior Occlumency, you’d have no trouble searching my thoughts, and finding what you were after.” He confessed bitterly, his claim gaining him eye-contact. Hermione swallowed a thickness in her throat, feeling discomfort with his sudden praise of her. She narrowed her eyes at him, suddenly suspicious that he was complimenting her, and that his mind had felt so different.</p><p>“Prove you’re Severus Snape.” She said in a flat voice, forcing her thoughts into calmness, focusing on her breathing. He gazed at her for a moment, his own face unreadable, the mental wall surrounding his thoughts felt unstable as she stared into his eyes.</p><p>“Wolfsbane.” He said quietly, his lips barely moving as he spoke. Hermione began to nod briefly, before remembering her earlier request for proof. They’d been outside, and not bothered to hide their conversation. If someone had been listening, and this really <i>wasn’t </i>Snape…</p><p>“Not good enough.” She declared, lifting her wand and pointing it at him. She took steady breaths, keeping her own mind still, in case it wasn’t Snape, in case he could read her mind, anyway. A flicker of emotion crossed his impassive features, and he hesitated for only a moment longer, before she was met with his unguarded thoughts. She didn’t wait for any further permission before she inspected them, looking for a truth that couldn’t have been overheard.</p><p>The structure of his thoughts seemed even worse than before, no longer a whirlwind, or flow, but rather jagged, mismatched, and fluctuating explosions of thought interspersed with pools of darkness. It had a layer of murky black guilt to everything, and she sifted through the many-tiered bursts of thought. The first she encountered was pride, gold-tinged, and the words <i>“-smart enough to make sure…”</i>. Another eruption took its place quickly, replacing the gold with a dark green. <i>“Stupid, ignorant- How could you possibly think- Natural bloody talent…”</i>. The words faded, and she was presented with another series of thoughts. <i>“Stop thinking about it. Don’t- Not worth it…”</i> These words seemed pink tinged, interlaced with a vibrant purple, and a strange feeling of discomfort, burning, and a desire to <i>touch</i>. <br/>Her fingers twitched around her wand, and she was confronted with yet another swarm. Images of her pressed into a tree, lips colliding together. She could see her own face looking up at her, cheeks pink, lips slightly parted, chest heaving, and hair everywhere. She recognized her own thoughts at the time, as he picked them from her eyes, the desire for more, tied closely with a purple apprehension, a worry for pain. A self-disgust overtook everything, and the memory-Snape pulled away, leaving her by the tree with just a few short words. She was yanked into another mini vortex, spinning around and around a single thought for a few seconds. It was a strange combination of black with gold sparks, <i>“-Hasn’t run. She hasn’t run. She hasn’t run.”</i>  The repetition was broken by another wave, more memories. A head of red hair disappearing across the Hogwarts grounds as he hung upside down, his first friend leaving him to the mercy of her housemates. A wedding notice that Lily Evans would soon be Lily Potter. Dumbledore’s office, sobbing, broken. A growing bitterness, incompetent students, a blond boy who showed promise, and a brunette girl who brewed her own potion, while dictating two to three others on any given day. A bushy mass of hair that only seemed to grow larger as it hovered over a steaming cauldron. Children scattering as he strode down the hall, his face holding a promise of detention for any who impeded him. A burning in his arm, a terror filling his mind as he and the rest of the stadium waited impatiently for Potter to reappear, panic starting to take over the crowd as the minutes ticked by. A burning in his chest as he was forced to his knees, the pale face above him glowering with displeasure, wand lifting to inflict punishment. A frazzled looking witch who tried desperately to keep her best friend mentally above water, as well as organize a secret dueling club. Misleading the Toad when she asked him if he’d heard about such a group. Giving her plain water in a small vial for her interrogations. A new classroom, but the same students. A bushy haired teen doing better than he’d expected at non-verbal defensive spells. He’d thought her a bit of a bookworm, but seeing her fierceness, her battle-ready stance, he felt the burning need that brought guilt with it. Pleasure, breathless and pure, causing his muscles to shake and his eyes to water as he pumped his arm faster, squeezed tighter, his face buried into his pillow for his teeth to close on.</p><p>Hermione pulled away, gasping, feeling a resounding pulsating throughout her own abdomen. She gulped in air, shaking with the memory of Snape pleasuring himself. She couldn’t bring herself to meet his eyes as she struggled for her own control, her legs clenched together, her mouth dry as she tried to forget the feel of his erection in her hand, the vicious way he’d <i>needed </i>to bite something, the waves of immense pleasure such a vulgar action could bring. She’d rubbed herself experimentally before, but it had felt NOTHING like what she’d just experienced second-hand.</p><p>“Satisfied?” The sarcastic question was clearly as much of a jab over what she’d just witnessed, as well as an appeal for her verdict. She glared up at him, her irritation with his teasing briefly overriding her embarrassment.</p><p>“I’m convinced you’re Snape.” She allowed, her face burning as she met his black gaze. Without even trying she was slipping back into his thoughts, seeing flashes of herself, his previous pleasure, his fantasies. She tore away again, taking another trembling breath in. “Is my being able to see your thoughts without actively trying also due to natural talent?” Hermione asked sourly, thinking back to how she’d tried the <i>Legilimens</i> spell the first time. Without intent, it had been useless. Now it seemed she couldn’t <i>stop</i> herself from unconsciously using it.</p><p>“Likely.” Snape replied, shifting his weight, bending one knee. Hermione glanced up to watch, seeing the stiffness with which he moved, the strange way he sat that couldn’t be comfortable. “Though it could be the familiarity that’s strengthened it. We won’t know unless it happens around others.” She glared at him briefly for mentioning familiarity, met his gaze, and felt his discomfort. Right in the crotch of his pants, as he shifted again. She turned away, her blush renewed as she realized why he chose to sit like that.</p><p>“Not a word, Granger.” His voice was low, dangerous, and she shook her head, indicating she didn’t intend to say anything about what they both knew was in his trousers. It seemed as though their trip into his memories had made him just as aroused as her. She didn’t dare look into his eyes again, trying to fight back her own thoughts of his lips and hands, of him grinding against her. She didn’t need any more memories of him touching himself, or fantasies about her underneath him as he drove into her mercilessly, biting at her chest, hand wrapped around her throat…</p><p>She closed her eyes and flopped to the ground, rolling so her back was to him, and endeavoring to relieve the pressure in her panties with sleep.</p><p>“I’ll be back. Don’t follow.” His voice was harsh, and she listened to the sounds of him leaving, before she rolled onto her back, and stared at the closed tent flap, and the empty space around her. She could hear his footsteps crunching across the ground as he stalked away from camp. She wondered how long he’d be gone, and her fingers rubbed at her pants again, trying once more to relieve the building pressure inside herself. She closed her eyes, trying to ignore her embarrassment at what she was doing, and rubbed slow circles, enjoying the reprieve from her discomfort.</p><p>Her fingers pressed harder, drawn in by the ache that was starting to replace the burn. She was tense, her throat felt closed off, and her shoulder shook slightly with the discomfort of the angle. She relented, letting her hand fall away, and took deep breaths, wondering idly if the pleasant throb would ever die down. It seemed as though she could feel her own pulse inside her underwear, and squeezed her legs together once again, sitting up, and rubbing her hands across her face.</p><p>The zipping noise announced Snape’s return, and she rubbed her cheeks, as though she could scrub the embarrassed color from them. He glanced at her as he sank to his sleeping bag, his eyes locking on hers, displaying a sense of calm, and relief.</p><p>“Have you been crying?” He sounded incredulous as he inspected her flushed face, and watery eyes. Hermione blinked, surprised by the dampness that ringed her eyes. She hadn’t realized it’d happened at all.</p><p>“No.” She denied, looking away petulantly, before he could see the real reason for her appearance. His hand shot out like lightning, grabbing her chin and turning it back to him, as he leaned in, close enough to reach, and capture her stare without her looking away. She squeezed her eyes shut, her hands yanking at his wrist, silently pleading for freedom.</p><p>“Look at me, Granger.” His voice was low, commanding, and she shook her head slightly in his grasp, only for him to rearrange his fingers, clasping them around her jaw to hold her face more firmly place. “Afraid you’ll be embarrassed? Don’t you think after your theft of my memories it’s only fair that you share the humiliation?”</p><p>A wash of guilt covered Hermione, and she begrudgingly opened her eyes, offering him repentance for her earlier violation. Her mind slipped into his as he whispered <i>‘Legilimens’</i>, observing what he saw in her own head, and his reactions.</p><p>He could feel the heated throb that kept her from comfort, and felt a bit of guilt for being the cause. He knew she’d rubbed herself, trying to relieve the distraction. His brow creased as he felt her arm fall away, leaving her unsatisfied. <i>“Why?” </i>The thought rang through both of their minds, and was met with her brief confusion, before his thoughts formed a more cohesive question. “Why’d you stop?” He didn’t dare voice it though, knowing it would cause her to look away again in shame. Instead, he picked the answer from her brain.</p><p><i>“Don’t know.” </i>A few short memories of her lying in another bed, making the same motions, but stopping after a few minutes, her arm more uncomfortable than the ache. A textbook she’d read describing human sexuality, anatomy, and physiology. It mentioned orgasm, but didn’t go into detail about what females should expect, instead outlining a male’s indication of completion as ejaculation. But females didn’t produce sperm, so what exactly was her signal supposed to be that she should be ‘satisfied’? Since she was a woman, did she need sex to orgasm? Was she broken?</p><p>His mind swirled with disbelief at her thoughts, amusement at her incompetence, anger at her lack of education in the matter, and a dark thought that he turned over, considering the guilty offer a moment, before he presented it fully for her to inspect. A familiar feeling rose to the surface, and she was transported once again to a memory of him grasping himself, panting, heat building in his pelvis as he worked.</p><p>Hermione shut her eyes, blocking out the indecent image, only to feel Snape’s fingers tighten on her face.</p><p>“Look.” He commanded, the word like a key unlocking her eyes, both giving her permission to see the private thoughts, and encouraging her to <i>search </i>for something. She met his black stare again, and was swept once again into the feeling of his pleasure, her breath matching the memory as feeling flooded into her. She could feel his arms trembling, his legs tensing, his hips bucking. She could feel his teeth on his lip, and the searing, throbbing pleasure he brought himself. It felt similar to what rubbing herself had been, though more intense, and… <i>wetter</i>? His fingers slid wetly over his shaft, the pressure they provided making a sweet friction that pushed him over some unseen ledge, his whole body tensing as the pleasure peaked, his voice growling as his genitals tightened, and a wave of extraordinary pleasure and relief washed over him. His hand fell away, leaving him panting, sweating, and <i>satisfied</i>.</p><p><i>“That’s what textbooks can’t describe.” </i>He thought, finally giving a reason for pushing that memory at her. She felt her face burning with embarrassment, and need, her discomfort <i>that </i>much more acute after experiencing the feeling of orgasm, without actually reaching it. Her breath was ragged, and she felt too warm, her body burning the same way his had as he jerked himself roughly.</p><p>“Th-thanks…” She mumbled, and he finally released her face and sat back. His gaze was still on hers, giving her an unobstructed view of his thoughts. The constant guilt was there, swirling around thoughts about some sort of ‘professor’ based comment, to rile her up. The familiar feeling of satisfaction was also present, and she tugged at that thought, curious, only to see darkness, trees, pleasure. She turned away, flushing again at the thought that he’d left to 'relieve' himself.</p><p>“Sweet Merlin, girl.” His voice was barely above a whisper, and she turned back to him.</p><p>“What?” She snapped, feeling irritated for no good reason.</p><p>“Your Legilimency. I hadn’t really noticed just how far it’s gotten. You’re seeing everything on the surface without a verbal spell?” He was looking at her with curiosity, and she nodded, her eyes wide. “Look again, for reference. This is what I can decipher from just eye contact.”</p><p>She looked into his eyes once more, seeing a swirling of colors, feelings, the occasional word. Nearly as basic as when she’d started practicing, though not nearly as slow, or unfocused.</p><p>“Oh, wow.” Hermione breathed, thinking to her own non-verbal excursions. She couldn’t go as deeply, nor as controlled as she could with the full spell, but she could still see full cohesive thoughts and structures. She remembered again how he’d thought her talented.</p><p>i“-without eye contact…” the mental murmur was a brief sliver of thought from him, and she cocked her head, the half conversation they were having managing to douse the burn inside her.</p><p>“With the practice others have to get to your level, you could likely delve into the realm of Legilimency from mere proximity.” Snape explained what she’d been confused by. The thought excited her, and she grinned, before a darker thought overtook it.</p><p>“Can You-Know-Who do that?” She asked.</p><p>“He can. Though he’s had nearly fifty years to get there. Somehow, I doubt it will take you that long.” He mused with a feigned sickness at her prowess. She could see a green tinge of envy on the edges of his thoughts, and held back a snicker, that Snape was jealous of her.</p><p>“Do you think… I’ll be able to influence people’s minds like him?” She hedged, recalling how he’d lured Harry right to the ministry their fifth year.</p><p>“No. That’s something that’s unique to him, as he has the practice to utilize both Legilimency, Occlumency, and his own twisted agenda together. If you were to suddenly decide to become a dark witch, no doubt, you’d be able to eventually outmatch him in a mental capacity. However, since you’re <i>not </i>he is still the more powerful, as he’s willing to employ heinous methods to get results. I doubt you’re willing to torture, just to get your way.”</p><p>She nodded slowly, mulling it over. He shifted again, getting comfortable as he lay back, folding his arms behind his head in the most relaxed pose she’d ever seen him in.</p><p>“I don’t think I need to tell you not to go blurting out to people that you are a Legilimens?” He said through closed eyes. Hermione shook her head, before realizing he couldn’t see her.</p><p>“No. That would give away my advantage.” She agreed. She lay on her own roll, and closed her eyes, trying to mimic his relaxation, and sleep. The discomfort had dissipated enough to be a minor nuisance, and she practiced her Occlumency, letting a darkness surround her mind, and holding it there until she slipped unknowingly into sleep.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Depravity</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“This one’s no good.” Snape grumbled, a few flicks of his wand determining that the abandoned house was a few footsteps from collapsing. Hermione sighed, feeling doubt and exhaustion beginning to set in. This was the seventh house they’d inspected, and all for one reason or another, had been unsuitable for their new hideout.</p><p>“We should make camp for the night.” Snape gestured to a small copse of trees on the other side of the small road. Hermione nodded and began hiking toward the small wood, her feet sore as the sun hung low on the horizon. Only one of the houses had been semi-acceptable, but she’d soon discovered that it was too close to a main road, visible to any passing cars or pedestrians. Snape had vetoed it immediately, as unsecurable.</p><p>She set her backpack down and opened it, summoning the tent, table, and chairs to set up their small site as Snape began making loops around the perimeter, sealing off the entire small section of trees from observers. He’d taught her a few new hiding charms, and she watched closely, inspecting the fluidity with which he moved, securing them from discovery. He seemed used to the motions, as though he set up the same wards everywhere he went.</p><p>“Will you use the same charms to secure our future headquarters?” Hermione asked, tucking her wand back in her pocket, and staring at the back of his head intently, trying to do what he’d predicted her to be capable of. She didn’t get so much as an inkling of his thoughts, though, until he turned to face her.</p><p>“These and more.” Memories of his time as Headmaster of Hogwarts were at the surface, renewing the ancient wards on the castle, and adding a few that the Dark Lord had deemed necessary. “I’ll make it unplottable, put an anti-Apparation jix on it, probably confundus charms mixed with the anti-muggle protections, so even wizards won’t be able to stumble across us…” He mumbled more to himself than to her, waving his wand and casting the final silent anti-muggle charm across the space.</p><p>“Do you think he knows you’re alive?” Hermione whispered, a bit worried by his thoughts of how Voldemort would search.</p><p>“No. I haven’t been summoned, which would have been the first thing he’d have done if he suspected.” Snape’s fingers grasped his left forearm absentmindedly, as he plopped himself into the chair opposite her. “Would you like lessons for the day, or are you too tired?”</p><p>His change of subject was a welcome one, and Hermione thought it over, comparing her sore feet to the promise of learning something new.</p><p>“Of course, what was I thinking.” Snape grumbled, leaning forward onto the table, rolling his eyes as he felt her mental discourse. He pulled his wand out and sighed with feigned exasperation. It would have been believable, except Hermione could read the eager twitch of his fingers, and the shadow of a smile that lifted his lips. His eyes met hers and confirmed her thoughts, letting her have brief access to his teasing thought of <i>“Has to know everything, this one…” </i>before his Occlumency barred her way, offering her a single path of thought to follow. It was like a slow stream, carrying her on a trickle of red.</p><p>“I’d like to take things up a notch, Granger. If you’re ever confronted by Bellatrix, Macnair, or their ilk, you won’t find their minds like mine. Bellatrix is an exceptional Occlumens, but if you do get through her barriers, her mind is twisted, evil, and bloody. I’d like you to practice maintaining a straight face, and unaffected pose while sifting through stressful, even horrifying things.” His voice was smooth, instructive. Hermione nodded, leaning back in her chair, and kept her face blank as she let him feed her images.</p><p>They started gentle, the red trickle getting thicker, obviously imitating blood. She kept herself still, her breathing even as the gory stream carried her to memories mixed with imagination. She had a hard time telling them apart as she was presented with the shape of a lifeless body, bleeding from it’s mouth. Glassy eyes, a giant wound in the torso. Another gruesome form, slumped against a wall, half-mummified, the hand jerking toward her. She jumped in fear, gasping with surprise at the Inferius.</p><p>“Be still, Granger.” The criticism was more gentle than she was used to, and she relaxed again, steadying her lungs, and preparing herself for more jump-scares. The feeling of a knife in her hands as she carved an animal was nauseating, but she kept her face calm, trying to keep her mind clear from emotion as she fought back bile. The image changed only slightly, the animal shape replaced by a human one. She did gag then, as the knife continued to slice, but managed to stop any other reaction. The image of a naked woman came to the forefront, and she held her breath for a moment, surprised by the sudden nudity. The same woman tied down, covered in bruises, crying pitifully. A different pose, but still bound, her wrists tethered to her ankles, keeping her bent over, her rear exposed, something black lashed out and struck her. A wailing scream. More lashes, leaving bright red marks across her ass and thighs, and then, a hand, slapping at the marks, inserting several fingers into the woman’s exposed privates. The image was replaced by another body, gasping breathlessly as the pained face slowly relaxed, death overtaking the agony.</p><p>“That’s enough for now. You did well.” Snape complimented, the images fading, leaving only his current words, and a pride that she’d been so unmoved.</p><p>“That was awful!” Hermione finally allowed herself to react. “Were those real?”</p><p>“Some.” He lifted his mental wall, protecting  her from the knowledge of which had been real, though she suspected that the abused woman had been.</p><p>“Who was she?” She asked, considering for a moment that it had been one of his lovers, and that his fantasies of her were nothing, compared to.</p><p>“She was a muggle woman that Bellatrix kept for a few days. The Dark Lord found humor in the torture of muggles, and Bella is always eager to comply. If you ever delve into her mind, that is likely one of the more mild things you’ll encounter.” He said, his mind swirling with another round of guilt at her thought of him doing such a thing.</p><p>“Sorry, I didn’t mean…” Hermione tried to apologize for her assumption, but was cut off by his hand lifting, holding her words at bay. His eyes had left hers, leaving her to wonder at what he was feeling now. His face was impassive, and he blinked at the table a few times before lowering his hand, and looking up.</p><p>“You’re inexperienced. I don’t blame you for jumping to conclusions.” He said, not quite meeting her eyes. “Especially when you’ve seen what I crave.” Hermione’s cheeks blazed at the memory of him fantasizing about her. He’d imagined choking her, biting her, holding her down. She looked at the grain of the table,  thinking over the question she wanted to ask, while trying to be tactful.</p><p>“Spit it out.” Snape barked, surprising her. She looked up to see him watching her keenly, his eyes catching how she tapped her finger, the wrinkle in her brow that meant she was thinking too hard about something.</p><p>“I… um… I was wondering… The memories of that woman didn’t… You didn’t seem aroused by them, but… You think about things like… <i>that</i>, when you...” She shrugged, her voice rising in pitch as she spoke, her face turning nearly beet red. She averted her gaze, hoping she hadn’t upset him by her intrusive comments.</p><p>“Ahh. You’re confused about what the difference is.” he comprehended, folding his arms across his chest. Hermione nodded mutely, not trusting her voice to do more than squeak. “Would you like me to try and explain it? You could see for yourself, if you dare.” He taunted, his voice held a smirk, and his tone was suddenly mocking.</p><p>“Don’t make fun of me.” Hermione snapped, looking into his derisive stare. “You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to.”</p><p>“Where’s the fun in that?” He needled, sounding every bit as mean as he used to, the complementing and open man gone. Hermione let herself be drawn into his thoughts, searching for the underlying reasons to his reaction. Was he upset by the question, or just teasing her for his own sick amusement? There were traces of irritation, a swath of lust, the never-ending guilt, and some fluttery pink feeling that seemed trapped behind bars of obscuring darkness. She dove toward that hidden feeling, desperate to unravel what he was truly feeling, and was surprised when it was yanked away, put behind a wall, and seemed to cease to exist altogether.</p><p>“Careful, Granger. Don’t tread to deeply, or you might find yourself with unpleasant results.” His gaze was sharp, reprimanding her for seeing beneath what he presented. She stifled a grin at her nearly successful endeavor.</p><p>“Something you’d like to keep hidden professor? I thought I already knew all of your secrets.” She teased back, trying to mimic his sneer.</p><p>“Hardly.” Was all the reply she got. And a slight impression of that same fluttery pink. “Do you honestly want an answer, or would you like to keep your mental innocence intact?”</p><p>She started, surprised by the candor in his tone, that he seemed to actually be offering her an explanation if she desired. She gulped down her sudden nervousness, and nodded eagerly. “I’d like to understand. Especially if it’s something that can make others minds easier to decipher.” She made a quick excuse, hoping he wouldn’t call out her cowardice, though he could clearly see it as their eyes locked.</p><p>“Very well. The difference between the two things is the response.” His face was expressionless, his tone the same as when he lectured. Hermione cocked her head, confused.</p><p>“Response? What do you mean?”</p><p>He sighed in a beleaguered fashion, and closed his eyes briefly, before opening them, and lifting his eyebrows in a look that said <i>‘Really?’ </i>She could see images behind his black stare, faces, one crying as the girl begged for mercy and liberty. Another that was flushed, eyes glazed, mouth parted in a slight smile, even though she clearly couldn’t breathe.</p><p>“Oh.” Hermione looked to the table again, finally realizing what he’d meant. The response of his partner was what made the difference between the unarousing beating, and the lustful imaginary violence. Her mind whirled with the image of the last girl’s face, so happy, so passionate. She clamped her lips shut, fighting the urge to ask more questions. She wasn’t sure if he’d actually answer them, too, or continue with his earlier mockery.</p><p>“Granger, as much as I would have appreciated you keeping your mouth closed in my classes, I can’t help but feel as though you’re going to choke on your own tongue if you continue fighting yourself much longer.” He drawled, offering her his mocking without provocation. She rolled her eyes, and decided that if he was going to be rude anyway, she might as well try to learn.</p><p>“Does that actually feel good?” She asked, keeping her tone light, conversational, careful not to even hint at a judgemental stance.</p><p>“What, choking?” He sounded legitimately shocked by her question, and she glanced at him, reading his face more than his mind. He was watching her with a strange expression of disbelief, surprise, and what little she got from his mind was red hot desire.</p><p>“Yeah.” She confirmed, her eyes gone before he could get anything from them.</p><p>“It depends.” he tentatively answered, and she could almost feel the way he stared at her, gauging her reaction as he spoke, trying desperately to delve into her mind as she processed his words.</p><p>“On what?” She asked, continuing to look into the trees, worried that if she met his gaze again, she’d be drawn into his mind. She wasn’t sure she could handle any more of his sexual fantasies. It seemed like just talking about them was making her center turn to liquid fire.</p><p>“It depends on the people, how it’s done, the intent… Other, simultaneous, happenings…” He trailed off, clearly intending to embarrass her with the last insinuation. She nodded, fighting her blush at the thought of something so extreme being done while having sex. What if he accidentally took it too far? What if your partner died, and you didn’t notice until after?</p><p>“Now what are you worrying about?” He snapped across at her, seeing her bite at her lip nervously. She frowned, and turned to him, desperate for answers.</p><p>“Isn’t that dangerous? What if they died?” She demanded, confused by how anyone could find such a fetish enjoyable. It seemed like she’d be too worried to enjoy it, even if it did feel as good as the girl in his mind had seemed to think.</p><p>“It can be dangerous, <i>depending on the partner</i>. For instance, MacNair, he’d likely crush your throat for the fun of it. Bellatrix would be too rough, and not at all interested in her partner’s pleasure. Someone with no experience would have no idea <i>how </i>to squeeze without posing a risk to their partner’s health.” She could see nearly a tutorial in his mind as he spoke, his long fingers wrapping around a slender neck, applying the exact right amount of force to cut off the air without hurting. Squeezing from the sides to impede the blood flow, so she could still breathe, but got lightheaded and felt the perverted pleasure of it. “It’s something best done with a knowledge of anatomy, or even better, a mentor. It’s not a pleasure for the virtuous to try alone.” His meaning was clear, and she looked away, her face inflamed.</p><p>“I’m not going to <i>try </i>it!” She half shouted, appalled at the images he’d had in mind, of her by herself, tightening her school tie around her neck.</p><p>“Good. It’s dangerous. <i>Especially </i>alone.” He sharply pronounced. Hermione huffed, and turned a glare on him.</p><p>“If it’s so dangerous, <i>why </i>do you think about it?” She couldn’t help it. He got her so provoked, the words slipped from her tongue before she’d really thought about them. He didn’t seem upset by the angry question, instead he grinned, a predatory, carnal smile.</p><p>“I like it because I know how to do it. Because it’s unimaginably exciting to watch a woman writhe beneath me, climaxing <i>because </i>it’s dangerous. I push the limits of comfort because that’s where the most pleasure is.” his grin didn’t slip, and she could feel a vicious burning inside him, as though he were going to pounce at her, and tear her apart. “You may not be able to logically comprehend the 'why' but I can see how you’re trying not to think about it. You don’t need to understand it, because your response says that some part of you, deep down, that you never think about, <i>does </i>understand.”</p><p>She turned her crimson face away, refusing to let him see the lie in her eyes. “Nothing in me <i>understands </i>something so weird. I don’t want it, and I don’t appreciate you implying I do.”</p><p>“Look me in the eye and say it.” He dared, his voice low again. She shook her head, trying not to shift guiltily as her thighs squeezed together, and her blood seemed to all flow to her underwear.</p><p>“No. I don’t want to see any more of your fetishes.” She shot back at him, managing a believable lie for why she wouldn’t face him. He let her sit in silence for a few minutes, before he let out a deep chuckle.</p><p>“You’re so damn… <i>Wholesome</i>.” he said it like an insult, and Hermione huffed, indicating that she wouldn’t rise to his bait. “Is it painful being so uptight, girl?”</p><p>She turned on him then, glaring death, biting her lip, and her arms squeezing at her chest all in an effort to stay silent.</p><p>“I am NOT uptight!” She finally spat, focusing on her own displeasure, instead of the inside of his mind. “You’re just depraved! How do you even get so perverted, anyway!?” She shot across at him, her anger ebbing as she lashed out.</p><p>“In my experience it’s usually someone older or more experienced that starts the corruption.” He mused, his smirk indicating the <i>he </i>was older and more experienced, and she was falling to depravity. She glared, making sure her anger was the only thing he’d be able to feel without a more powerful <i>Legilimens </i>spell.</p><p>“Mm, good. Using an expected emotion to mask all others. You’re getting better at your Occlumency.” he purred, making her pull back with surprise. He changed disposition faster than most could change cloaks, one minute offensive, the next praising. She let herself see deeper than the surface, fighting through layers of feigned nonchalance and bragging, getting almost to the fluttery pink feeling, and being deterred by an overpowering surge of irritation.</p><p>“I’m going to make dinner. Practice your tree-climbing, or whatever it is you call that fumbling mess of limbs.” He dismissed, standing, and waving his wand to gather wood, light it afire, summon the cauldron and ingredients from her purse, and begin preparing them. Hermione glared at him a few moments before she stalked off, finding a tree with lower hanging branches, and beginning to ascend it. She fought with her hair nearly as much as where to grab the tree without falling, and grumbled to herself, sliding to the ground, and pointed her wand toward Snape’s back.</p><p>“<i>Accio hairband</i>.” she muttered, holding her hand out for the tie to fall into as it soared to her from the backpack. She pulled her hair into a quick bun and started back up the tree, not wanting to give Snape any more reasons to taunt her that evening.</p>
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<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Massage</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Hermione lay across her sleeping bag, her feet throbbing with discomfort after another day of walking around the Welsh countryside. She’d barely been able to keep up with the brisk pace that Snape had set for them, inspecting one house after another, and finding only one half-suitable location. It had been nixed due to a strange smell, and overabundance of rodents, and a strange hair-raising sensation it cause as they walked through it. They’d agreed it would be a second choice if nothing else panned out, but both clearly preferred camping even to that hovel.</p>
<p>“Stop fidgeting, some of us are trying to sleep.” Snape’s caustic tone filled the tent for a moment, causing Hermione to freeze, not realizing she’d been moving around.</p>
<p>“Sorry, I can’t get comfortable.” She mumbled, resisting the urge to rub her sore legs, the prickling soreness growing the longer she lay still.</p>
<p>“Perhaps you’d be more comfortable under a stunning spell?” He offered rudely, earning him a silent glare at his turned back.</p>
<p>“No thank you.” She bit out, rolling to lie on her back, and stretch her legs out. She propped one leg up until it began tingling, then the other, trying futilely to find a way to ease the discomfort.</p>
<p>“For the love of Merlin, girl!” He sat upright, and turned to glare at her. “If I have to brew you a <i>poison </i>to get you to sleep, I will! Just <i>please </i>stop moving!” He growled the please with more emotion than she could see on his face, which was a feat, since his expression said he was half an inch from murdering her before she even got cozy enough to sleep.</p>
<p>“I can’t! My legs hurt too much!” She grouched back, shifting once more, stretching both arms and legs out in frustration. He glared at her for a moment, his eyes narrowed with thought.</p>
<p>“Give me your leg.” He finally ordered, holding out his hand. Hermione hesitated, inspecting his face, and reading the undercurrent to his thoughts, looking for any intent to hurt her. She found a sleepy muddle of irritation, determination, and sparkly yellow around the edges of his mind. She sat up and turned, bracing her arms behind her, and lifted her leg to offer to him, hoping he knew a spell to relieve the discomfort.</p>
<p>Instead, his fingers clasped around her ankle, pulling her foot into his lap, and skimming to her calf, digging gently into the fabric of her pajamas, forming slow methodic circles. His eyes had turned away from her, closing his thoughts to her, but the firm, careful way he touched made her certain that he held no ill-will. It took her a moment to realize that he was massaging her leg, putting her muscles to rest with his fingers alone. She felt a small shard of embarrassment at the thought, but pushed it away, unwilling to turn down such a relieving and pleasant gift. His eyes seemed nearly closed as he rubbed, his fingers making their way in a pattern up and down her leg, around to the front, and then to her knee, stroking downward across the back of her joint, making her eyes close with enjoyment as he worked, the relaxing fingers laboring onto her thigh, his long fingers splaying and kneading. Hermione felt her breath coming quicker as he moved higher, and squeezed her eyes shut, not daring to look at him as he came inches from touching her more intimately. His movements were deliberate and thorough, and she didn’t <i>think </i>he was going to try and molest her, but after the way he’d mocked her the previous day, she felt uncertain. His fingers swept back down, and traded her leg out for the other, beginning at her ankle again, and leaving her with a feeling of disappointment.</p>
<p>She’d nearly expected him to inch even higher, to ‘accidentally’ brush against her pelvis. She told herself it was a good thing he hadn’t. That she didn’t want him to. It was just some strange result of asking such personal questions. Of being on the receiving end of his passion a few times. A passion he seemed to be totally lacking in his exhaustion. Hermione opened her eyes infinitesimally inspecting his blank face. He could almost be asleep if it weren’t for his hands moving up her leg, and the tiny blinks that proved his eyes weren’t completely shut. As his fingers came closer again to the top of her thigh, she held her breath, as though waiting for him to wake up, and realize how close he was to what he’d fantasized about. She was starting to tingle at the thought, fighting her imagination as it began producing the scenario of his fingers continuing the massage after her legs had been finished.</p>
<p>“Professor?” she whispered as he leaned across her leg, his head hanging slightly as his fingers traveled. He looked up, his hands continuing their movement as he met her gaze. “Thank you.” She mumbled having nothing else to say as she effortlessly searched his tired thoughts. The irritation was nearly extinct, and the sleepiness was fading as he stared at her, realizing just how close his motions had brought him toward her. The yellow glitter at the edges was more prominent, and she recognized it as enjoyment. The feeling of her leg under his fingers was making him happy, and she could feel the way he was storing the feeling, memorizing the shape under the fabric. She could smell herself through his mind, the floral scent of her shampoo nearly filling the tent. Her eye color nearly matched his in the dark, and she felt his fingers go still on her thigh, and his eyes broke from hers for a half a second, breaking her from his thoughts as he glanced downward, only to rejoin hers once more, with guilty presence behind them. Her lips were parted, nearly close enough to kiss, if he weren’t already stretched across her leg. His fingers twitched slightly, and he held them still again, refusing to slide them higher up her leg, though he wanted to. He knew she was in his mind, but he couldn’t close off his thoughts, feeling it was useless. She already knew he wanted her, if she didn’t like the repetition, she knew how to get out. The thought surprised her, and she stayed put, unmoving as he stared back at her. He let her roam freely around his thoughts, his fingers tightening slightly on her leg as he focused on staying still, not taking what he wanted.</p>
<p>The fluttery pink feeling shot across his thoughts, and she snatched for it, finally able to latch into it without him locking it away.</p>
<p><i>“You want me to touch you?” </i>the words were light, playful, but gone almost instantly, replaced with others. <i>“Well, I WAS almost asleep…” “Anything else I can rub for you?” </i>They were barely full thoughts, each seemed to be considered, and discarded, as though he were searching for something to say. Hermione realized it was flirting. The fluttery pink words he’d hidden, the playfulness, mixed with more sexual tension than she’d thought possible. He was trying not to flirt with her though, and the fluttery pink allure was chased by dark shame, apprehension, and worry. He wanted her so badly, but he felt wrong for it. She was too young. She was too pure. She had her redhead. He had his to grieve for.</p>
<p>But none of it stopped his desire to slide his hands up her, push her to the ground, and make her beg for him. He was positive he could make her like whatever he offered, certain that she’d enjoy his hands doing uncivil things. She’d been so very eager last time he’d kissed her, he wondered how much more enthusiastic she’d be without the worry of painfully losing her virginity. His fingers twitched again, spreading wider across her leg, just a hair closer to the warm junction of her thighs. She felt her hips tilt through his mind, and flushed, not even having felt the movement herself.</p>
<p>Her face burning with embarrassment, she pulled away, removed her leg from his lap, and scooted farther onto her own bedroll. The tension surrounding them seemed to ebb slightly as his fingers slid away from her, and he leaned back, sayinging nothing as he lay back down, and closed his eyes, his face blank as he lay there. Hermione stared at him for a moment, trying to pry into his emotions, hoping he wasn’t angry that she’d snubbed him. His face betrayed no anger, but she knew he must feel at least a little frustrated. She certainly did. Her core felt like it was on fire, throbbing with her pulse, begging for release.</p>
<p>She snatched up her wand, and unzipped the tent flap, saying not a single word as she exited, needing the fresh air, and more space between their bodies than their shelter provided. She re-zipped the flap behind her, hoping he understood the silent message to stay put. She rubbed her face in the tepid night air and stalked a bit past the invisible boundary of their campsite, hiding behind the few trees there were, and sank to the ground with a groan of dismay. Her head thunked back against a tree trunk, and she closed her eyes, trying to think clearly. There had to be some logical explanation to her physiological reaction to the man. Was it just teenage hormones? She doubted it; she’d never felt the urge to behave so inappropriately before. She’d snogged Ron during the battle, and sure, she’d kissed Viktor, too, but neither had made her completely lose her mind with the thought of just being caressed. She’d enjoyed their kisses, she’d been turned on by Viktor holding her body against his as they made out, but it hadn’t been the same as the insanity-causing inferno that Snape aroused.</p>
<p>She almost laughed at that thought. <i>‘Snape aroused’</i>. What an unpredictable turn of her life. Stuck in the woods with a surly sourpuss, and sinking into depravity. She rubbed her legs uncomfortably together, though the earlier discomfort had been replaced by a new ache. She could still feel his hands on her legs, his fingers grazing closer and closer to her heated apex. She could still feel his need, the flirting he tried to suppress. Was that why she was so turned on right now? Because she’d been in his mind, and <i>he’d </i>been all stirred up? She told herself that must be it. The only logical explanation to why she was suffering right then. She disregarded the fact that the titillation had begun before he’d looked up at her. She refused to think about the times she’d burned for him before she was a Legilimens. She latched onto the idea of blaming him entirely, and stuck with it, trying to exert some modicum of irritation towards his contagious lust.</p>
<p>She opened her eyes and stared up at the stars, unable to work up a proper amount of gall. She stood, brushing the seat of her pajamas free of dirt and leaves, and walked the short distance back toward the tent. Her hand stretched toward the zipper, her fingers nearly ready to pull it open, when she heard the strangest noise. She froze, focusing, glancing around for any sign of encroachers, or animals. There was nothing, and the soft noise sounded again, from <i>inside </i>the tent. She stared at the canvas, eyes wide as she listened for a moment, confirming her suspicion.</p>
<p>She could hear a muffled whapping noise, steady, rhythmic, cut across by another low growl. The sound was like a line, tugging at her stomach, making her lurch backward as she thought about going in. She was NOT going in. He was busy, so she’d leave him be. She turned on her heel, and marched back to where she’d been sitting, retaking her previous seat, and staring blankly into the dark trees, trying to put the sounds from her mind. So what if he was having a wank? Maybe it would get rid of some of his damned desire, and make her life easier. She envied him a moment, feeling the incessant need between her own legs, and thinking of his imminent return to relaxation.</p>
<p>The thought struck her like a hammer, confusing for a moment, and then nearly painful. She could do the same. If he wasn’t going to be burning with unfulfilled need, why should she? It would be unfair to let the cause of her own unease be the only one sleeping soundly. She argued back and forth with herself for a few moments, weighing the pros and cons of trying to relieve herself, her eyes darting around for any possible witnesses with which to reason her timidity. She found none, and closed her eyes, trying not to think too much about what she was doing, and slid a hand between her legs, rubbing the hot mass of want. The pressure was like a blanket on a cold day, instant gratification. The moment her hand left though, the throbbing returned, vengeful, and demanding. She stroked hesitantly at the seam of her pajamas, taking a moment to appreciate the abatement of pulsing distress. She leaned back into the tree, trying to relax as she stroked up and down, causing small jolts of pleasure to eddie through her nerves. She put more force into the motion, her hips tilting slightly as she gasped with the sensation it caused. It was like a sharp, concentrated fire beneath her fingers, burning into her, and taking root deep inside her belly.</p>
<p>The memory of Snape mentally illustrating an orgasm for her came to the forefront of her thoughts, and she compared the rush of pure pleasure he’d felt to the sparks of heat she was pushing into herself. Her fingers were shaking slightly, and she stroked faster, aiming for that same crest of satisfaction he’d shown her. Her hips twitched, and her back arched, displacing her hand, and making her groan with frustration as she chased her own body, her hand snaking lower, to once again reach for that pinnacle. Her face was pinched in concentration, her breath a rapid panting as she vigorously caressed herself, getting closer, and closer. Her hips swayed the opposite direction, her shoulders jolting slightly as she involuntarily jerked once again. She tried again, tension filling every muscle with the desire to stay still, to not move an inch until she’d finished, but it seemed as soon as she neared climax, she shook, jerked, and was unable to quite get there. It was as though the sharp pinpoints of pleasure were too much, and her body refused to go further, keeping true completion from her grasp. She whimpered with vexation, dropping her hand to the side, and hating the dull throb that came back full force.</p>
<p>She felt like sobbing with anger and irritation, the unfulfilled ache within her still demanding a release that she was unable to reach. After the spasming pleasure she’d inflicted upon herself though, the dull ache didn’t seem quite so unmanageable, a mild discomfort compared to the electric shock of near-orgasm.</p>
<p>She sat for a moment longer, catching her breath, and trying to will her desire to disappear. When the first of the two had been completed, she stood, and angrily made her way back to the tent, determined to sleep off the yearning.</p>
<p>She paused right outside the flap, listening to any indication that her Professor was still preoccupied. She heard nothing, and unzipped the flap slowly, giving him time to make himself decent if he wasn’t already. She entered, and saw him lying on his side, facing the wall of the tent, his chest rising and falling with deep, slumbering breaths. She nestled into her bedroll, grumbling quietly to herself about his ease of sleep, and obvious ability to actually finish what he set out to do.<i> He </i>didn’t seem to have any problems with his body betraying him at the last second. She closed her eyes, hating him for causing her such agony, and being able to so easily alleviate his own. She whispered quiet curses under her breath as she lay there and stewed, willing to be bitter until the moment she fell asleep.</p>
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<a name="section0009"><h2>9. Climbing Lessons</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Hermione had spent the rest of the week ignoring her sore feet and legs, unwilling to mention them to Snape, for fear that he’d touch her again. Her biggest worry was how much she wanted him to. Besides the tension that had sparked between them afterward, the massage itself had felt heavenly, and each night her muscles ached, she wanted to beg for another. But she was worried that if she invited him to put his hands on her again, they would get swept up in the tension and passion that had enveloped her whenever he kissed her. If him touching her and being so close made her want him, then she’d solve the problem by taking that nearness out of the equation. She stayed firmly on her side of the tent at night, keeping her legs still as they prickled and throbbed with overuse, knowing that if she moved too much, he’d know she was in pain again, and he might grab her leg before she could deny him. She knew that if he were to press his fingers so skillfully into her muscles, she wouldn’t stop him. She’d be too thankful for the assistance that she’d keep her mouth closed, and let him work, even if it meant she ended up burning alive again.</p><p>She kept her eyes away from him, too, unless they were practicing, not willing to see anymore of his pleasure or imagination. He dutifully continued to show her nothing of his own thoughts except the very worst of his memories and illusions, presenting her with more horrifying things whenever she managed to keep herself from reacting. She could feel herself detach slightly from her body almost, keeping her thoughts from being displayed on her face, or by a flinch. Despite her outward indifference, her mind still reeled with the dark thoughts. She knew she should keep better control of her inward reactions too, but she couldn’t help the mental retch whenever he showed her more of Bellatrix’s muggle playthings. Nor could she stop herself from pulling away slightly whenever the glassy eyes of a lifeless corpse were displayed, whether real or imaginary. It unsettled her to see the dull, lightless expressions, the screaming faces, the blood that dripped from mouths, backs, and every other place that could bleed.</p><p>She sat across from him Friday evening, staring blankly into his eyes as he displayed a reel of horror for her to grow accustomed to. She had seen enough in the past week that her face stayed emotionless as she glanced at the memory of a young man groveling on the floor, begging for his life as Bellatrix cackled. Hermione internally cringed as another hex was sent at his body, and she felt the mental twinge of discomfort from the surrounding mind as well. Snape was obviously unhappy with the thoughts, and wanted to watch them perhaps even less than she did, knowing how each ended. It was something he hadn’t shown her yet, the very real closure of Bellatrix’s torture. She knew that the muggles must have died, but she was thankful that Snape hadn’t shown her <i>how</i>. She was fairly certain that every dead body he imagined was just that. Imagined.</p><p>“I’ll show you if you feel you’re ready to see, but it’s not something I feel anyone needs to witness.” Snape replied to her internal musing over his insulating endeavors. “I’d like to prepare you to see the real thing, if necessary, but… I also don’t want that stuck in your head, if it’s not needed.” he explained himself, his face just as blank as hers as the memory slid to a halt, his mind distracted by the present.</p><p>“No, I think… I appreciate your thoughtfulness. It’s not something I want in my head, either.” She agreed aloud, thinking that the imaginary dead bodies were plenty. She was fairly certain that she could maintain her poker face if she was ever in Bellatrix’s mind, and wasn’t too keen on having any more memories of death than she already had. She’d already seen so many of her friend’s lifeless faces. She wasn’t sure she could handle those of helpless strangers, as well.</p><p>“Good. Then we’re done for the day.” he intoned, pushing back from the table, and standing. He tilted his head from side to side, stretching discreetly as he pulled out his wand. Hermione watched him a moment, considering how very human he seemed to her now.</p><p>In school, he’d seemed like a hellish demon of a man, intent on destroying the lives of his students, and making everyone as miserable as he was. His fury had been legendary, and he seemed inhuman in his ability to stand or sit rigidly for hours without the slightest hint of discomfort. He’d almost seemed the the kind of man to sleep flat on his back, arms straight beside him, with no movement at all. He’d transformed all of her father’s clothes that she’d brought into similar black robes, but as the summer wore on, he seemed to wear fewer layers, leaving his outfits simple; trousers, button down shirt, boots, and a single outer robe that appeared more like a long jacket than the batlike layers and cape he liked to wear around school. He slept on his side most often, or with his limbs crooked out at odd angles, his head turned slightly, snoring softly. He was no demon. He slept, stretched, and lounged just like a normal person. The last had been a strange sight, as he’d relaxed on his sleeping bag, head propped on one arm, reading in the lamplight. He’d looked so casual, wearing his usual sleep attire of comfortable black cotton covering him from wrists to ankles, that she’d found herself staring for several minutes, comparing the unceremonious sight before her to the angry sweeping mass of darkness that had terrorized schoolchildren. He made a good show of being inhumanly uncompromising, but it was all just an act to keep the children in line, and to gain the respect of his peers. He didn’t want to show weakness in front of any of them, or he’d have a whole slew of people calling him ‘Snivellus’. She’d seen the worry in his mind once, as he sat rigidly in his chair across from her during a lesson. He’d been uncomfortable in that position, but habits were indeed hard to break, and old worries still lingered.</p><p>Hermione stood and stretched as well, stepping up to the nearest tree, and attempting to climb into its branches. She grabbed the lowest branch, an appendage that jutted upward from the height of her shoulders, leaving her plenty of space to wrap her arms around, and haul herself up, using her feet against the trunk to scramble onto the branch. She flopped onto her belly, one leg on either side of the wooden limb, clutching tightly as she sat up, and looked for her next branch up.</p><p>“That’s amazing, Granger. I’d never know where you went, if I couldn’t see you.” Snape’s sarcastic voice made her look over, and she saw his back was turned. She glared balefully at him, unamused by his attempt at satire.</p><p>“No one likes sarcasm.” She shot at him, feeling irritated with his mockery.</p><p>“No, <i>you </i>don’t like sarcasm, which makes it all the more tempting for me to use it.” He shot her a nasty grin, and turned back to his own task, ignoring the knives she was imagining in his back.</p><p>“If you’re so eager to berate my climbing skills, perhaps you’d like to demonstrate how it’s supposed to be done?” She snapped, swinging her leg back over the branch, and sliding noisily to the ground.</p><p>“Not really.” He commented with a shrug, looking back at her with eyebrows raised, clearly baiting her. She took a few deep calming breaths, focusing on the burning scrapes on her palms more than her irritation.</p><p>“If you can’t do better, then shut it.” She challenged, turning back to face her leafy nemesis. She heard the thumping of his boots as he stalked toward her, and grinned. He was just as easy to predict. She kept her victorious smile from her face, looking over at him as he drew level with her.</p><p>“Hold this.” He ordered, holding out his robe, and giving her an annoyed glance. She took the garment, and watched as he stepped up to the tree. He turned to smirk at her, and then pulled out his wand, pointing it at the ground. She narrowed her eyes, but he put it away just as suddenly, lifting his face to inspect the obstacle. He placed both hands flat on the top of the low hanging branch, jumped slightly, and pushed himself up effortlessly with one foot silently leveraging his weight against the trunk. His knee rested easily on the branch as he brought his anchored foot up, one hand already grabbing the branch above his head for balance as he secured his footing, and stood, lifting himself just as easily to the next level, making nearly no noise as he ascended.</p><p>Hermione stared with her mouth hanging open as he crept easily up the tree, making it appear effortless, and graceful. She snapped her jaw shut as he looked down at her with a boastful smirk.</p><p>“How’d you do that?” She demanded, “What spell did you cast?”</p><p>“A muffling charm.” He replied from his loft, crouching, and dropping back down to the lower branches just as nimbly as he’d gone up.</p><p>“But how did you get up there so easily?” She asked, staring at him in confusion as he dropped neatly to the ground in front of her, his fall making a suppressed *thud* as he landed, and straightened up. “Did you use some sort of lightening charm?” She asked, looking him over from head to toe. He’d seemed to drop with the normal body weight, but the way he’d climbed had to be the result of-</p><p>“No. Only the muffling charm.” He grabbed his cloak from her and slipped it on, sliding his arms through the dark sleeves, and quickly buttoning the front. Hermione averted her gaze as his nimble fingers secured the robe, frowning at the idea of him being so good at something so childish.</p><p>“How did you get so good at climbing trees?” She asked, dogging his steps back to the campfire, where he was heating their dinner. He seemed to have permanently taken over the role of cook, making crass comments about her lack of culinary skill every time she offered.</p><p>“As a young boy I used to climb them for fun. I just got good enough at it, that the skill never really left. I suppose if I’d chosen a different career, I may have been unable to do it quite as easily, but being a potion’s master has kept me in shape enough.” He shrugged, giving the small cauldron a stir, and sniffing.</p><p>“I don’t understand.” Hermione said, looking him up and down. She hadn’t really noticed before, but he did seem rather fit. Without the billowing black robes, it was easier to see the actual shape of him, the width of his shoulders, the fullness underneath his sleeves that indicated muscle. He wasn’t the bony, sickly figure his pallor might indicate.</p><p>“Heavy cauldrons, hours of honing my fine muscle control, and climbing around a storeroom half the day. Not the most exciting exercise, but it’s productive.” He conveyed, making Hermione flush with embarrassment. She’d imagined him sitting at his desk all day, grading papers, or staring into the abyss. She realized it made sense that he was working on potions, keeping the infirmary stocked, supplying the Order, or even perhaps selling them for profit.</p><p>“So you can’t teach me how to climb trees unless I become brawny?” She asked, disappointed. He let out a low chuckle, surprising her, and she looked up into his black gaze, looking for the source of his amusement.</p><p>“I can teach you. But it would be hands on, and, oh, I thought you were trying to avoid me…” He drawled, his eyes glittering with devilry, his lips fighting a smirk. She could see herself through his thoughts, her pink face, the stiffness with which she’d held herself whenever he approached, how she’d stopped looking into his eyes without invitation.</p><p>“I-” She stammered, trying to find an excuse, but her burning cheeks would give away any lie she told. “I didn’t want to make things difficult for you.” She finally bit out, unwilling to meet his eyes, or let him see that she wanted to equally avoid her own discomfort.</p><p>“You make my life difficult, every moment you’re awake, girl.” He growled, images of her clambering oafishly up the tree, asking a million questions, and being her usual obsessive self came from his mind, and she blushed deeper, seeing the taunt for what it was. He’d sounded insulting, but the fluttery pink darted around his mind, threatening to enter the conversation if he decided to throw caution to the wind. She looked away, stuffing the flirtatious feeling of his thoughts deep down inside her own mind, and fought her own embarrassment.</p><p>“Fine, I’ll take your stupid tree-climbing lessons.” She said, feeling a small amount of anticipation build inside her stomach at the thought of his hands on her. Would he use it as an excuse to fondle her? Would he even <i>need </i>to do something so forward to get a response? She plopped down in her usual chair, and slumped slightly as he continued to make dinner, trying not to think about the possible outcomes of letting him manhandle her against a tree again. It was just another study, not a reason to be hopelessly aroused. She was determined not to overthink it. If she thought about it too much, it would make the operation that much less tolerable.</p><p>By the time dinner was served, Hermione had all but managed to push the threat of his hands on her out of her mind, and focus instead on what he might teach her. Foot placement? Heaving techniques? She laughed inwardly at that last thought, imagining there actually being a certain art to tree-climbing, instead of just practice, and strength.</p><p>“Would you like your first climbing lesson after dinner?” Snape’s voice came across the table, smooth as butter, polite, and completely proper. She looked up, staring into his thoughts with suspicion.</p><p>
  <i>“-bother asking? Of course she’s going to say yes, the insufferable know-it-all. Has to learn everything, and it has to be immediately. Probably give up sleeping if it meant she could learn faster. One way to tell if she’s ever being imitated, offer her lessons in something completely trivial. Care for a class on the proper way to stare at a wall for hours, Granger?”</i>
</p><p>She pulled away, feeling amusement warring with irritation. She <i>should </i>be annoyed just on principle, but his thoughts hadn’t held any real sourness, and the thought of him asking an imposter to take such a class was worth cracking a smile on it’s own. She supposed if he’d been thinking those things about anyone but herself, she’d have allowed herself to be amused, but pride dictated that she not encourage his lighthearted mockery.</p><p>“Sure.” She finally agreed to his spoken question, and faced her dinner with an impassive face. He wasn’t going to get any reaction from her.</p><p>As soon as they were finished eating, and the table cleared, she followed him to a nearby tree as the orange light filtering through the trees threatened darkness soon.</p><p>“Let me see you try.” He ordered, folding his arms, and leaning back slightly, to watch. She huffed, and grabbed the branch, wrapping her arms around it, one over, one under, and began to kick at the trunk with her feet, trying to push herself up before she lost her grip.</p><p>“Stop.” His voice sounded a half second later, and she let her feet drop, releasing the branch, and standing in front of him. She could see the insults in his mind warring with the lesson, and he took a breath, pushing the nastiness away, and entering instructor mode.</p><p>“Place both arms on top.” He instructed. Hermione complied, draping her arms over the branch, laying her palms flat.</p><p>“This doesn’t feel as secure, though.” She noted, worried that she’d slide right off when she tired going up.</p><p>“It won’t stop you from falling the same as hugging the branch, but it will provide you with better leverage, so you’re less likely to need the death grip.” He intoned, and ducked under the branch, to inspect her hands. He came back to her side, and looked her up and down, as if considering how to demonstrate the next step.</p><p>“That’s too much.” He finally announced, reaching over her shoulders, and grabbing her forearms. He pulled her arms closer, placing her palms level with her shoulders, and leaving all but the first half of her forearms off the tree.</p><p>“I can’t grab it at all now!” She argued, turning her head to frown at him.</p><p>“You don’t need to grab it. You need to pull yourself up, not hold on and walk up.” he said, giving her a deadpan look, and releasing her arms. “You need to jump, and then use that motion to get the rest of the way up.” He said, stepping back to let her try. She jumped, wrapping her arms further over the branch, and letting her legs dangle for a second before they connected with the trunk, and scrabbled for purchase. Her feet kept slipping, unable to push herself up with the sideways angle. She slipped to the ground, and let her arms slide from the tree, grimacing at the new scraped feeling that burned her skin.</p><p>“You’re still trying to run up it.” Snape chided, and ducked under the branch. He knelt down, and clasped his hands, presenting her with his palms. “Try again, but step here, not the tree.” he directed, holding his hands out to her. She eyed him for a moment, and grabbed the tree again, placing one trainer against his makeshift support. She jumped slightly, pushing at his hands, and hauling herself up over the branch. His hands pushed her foot up, helping her clear the height, while she flung one leg over the branch, and wrapped one arm back around the other way, securing herself.</p><p>“That was… Better.” Snape grimaced, and waved his hand, motioning for her to come back down. She slid sideways off the branch, extending one foot, then both as she fell slowly toward the ground, her arms around the bark keeping her from falling on her arse. When she turned to look at him for her next instruction, she saw his fingers dancing down his front, undoing his buttons again, and he removed his robe once more, leaving him in just the slacks and oxford.</p><p>“Watch.” He barked, and placed both hands flat on the branch, one foot on the trunk. He hopped slightly, and pushed away from the trunk, bringing his opposite knee up, and the trunk-side hand higher, grabbing a branch above his head with a quick glance, as his booted toes joined his knee on the branch underneath him. He turned to look at her from his crouched position, giving her a questioning glance. “You may not be tall enough to do it exactly the same, but the principle is consistent. You’ll want to remain upright, instead of flat on your stomach. If you’re lying down, you are defenseless until you’ve righted yourself.”</p><p>Hermione nodded, and watched him slip backward, letting his legs fall free, and his hands let go, landing easily. Without the muffling charm, his weight had made much more noise, his boot scraping noisily on the trunk, his thump including the rustle of forest under his feet, and the slight grunt he let out.</p><p>“Alright.” Hermione said, moving forward eagerly, placing her hand in the same fashion, and pressing one foot into the trunk. She jumped, and pushed away, her hips hitting the branch, and jarring her arms into collapse. She fell to her rump with a groan, grimacing up at the offending branch.</p><p>“Hmm…” Snape murmured, staring down at her, one brow lifting, a single finger tapping his cheek inquisitively. Hermione stood, and tried again, managing to bash her hips, knee, and scrape her hands.</p><p>“Mmhm. You’re too short.” his voice was calculating, and he walked around her, his eyes narrowed in thought. Hermione crossed her arms, trying not to feel self-conscious as he circled her, and looked at the tree. “Wrap  your arms around the trunk, and try crawling up that way, instead.”</p><p>He stepped back, and watched her attempt to move upward. She grasped the tree trunk with both arms, placed one foot, then the other. She held the position a moment, and then scooted one foot higher. Her face pressed uncomfortably into the tree, and as soon as she let go to grasp higher, she fell backward.</p><p>“Oof!” She gasped as she landed on her butt. She hopped up, ready to try again, but he held out an arm, frowning.</p><p>“This tree is too big. You need to practice with a smaller one…” he looked around in the dimming light and pointed out a much thinner, younger stand of foliage. “Climb that one.”</p><p>Hermione paced toward it, frowning at the higher branches, and smoother bark. She didn’t believe it would be easier, but she dutifully wrapped her arms around it, and placed one foot.</p><p>“Stop.” He was right there, his hand tapping her knee, making her set her foot down, and lean back from the tree to look at him.</p><p>“What?” She asked, feeling peeved.</p><p>“Wrap your legs around it, too, instead of trying to walk up it, so your legs can hold you up when you move your arms.” He said, his face holding no response to her irritation. She grumbled, and did as she was bid, re-wrapping her arms, and lifting her legs, feeling like a small child as she clung to the sapling. She scooted her arms up, and shook slightly, already feeling her muscles tire from the exercise. She moved one leg up, then the other. She heard Snape sigh behind her, and dropped, landing on her feet, and turned  on him, her irritation mingling nastily with her sore muscles.</p><p>“Go on, show me.” She demanded, gesturing at the tree, glaring at him.</p><p>He shook his head with a smirk. “I’d rather keep my dignity.”</p><p>“Are you saying you can’t do it?”</p><p>“I can, it’s just… a childish way to climb. Not appropriate for someone my size.” he replied, still smirking. Hermione glared, wondering if the skill was really worth the ‘indignity’ of climbing that way. “Lift yourself up again, and I’ll show you.” He moved closer, and she gave him one last annoyed glare, before she wrapped herself back around the tree.</p><p>“Squeeze with your arms, so you can support your whole weight, and move both legs up at once.” He pressed on her arms to indicate tightening her grip, and then tapped her knee. Hermione lifted her legs, wincing slightly as her arms, chest, and jaw scraped slightly under her weight. She pulled both legs higher, and relaxed her arms slightly, fighting the shaking muscles.</p><p>“Next, pull your torso away slightly, just your torso, not your arms, and, using your legs to push upward, roll up from your hips.” He tapped her knee again, indicating where she should grip. She pushed with her legs, wincing as her arms and torso dragged along the surface of the tree again.</p><p>“No, <i>roll </i>upward.” He said, moving an inch closer, his hands outstretched as if to catch her, or direct her.</p><p>“I don’t understand. I can’t roll, I’m hanging on!” She practically shouted at him, trying to work it out in her head. He wanted her to roll, but she couldn’t exactly do that in her position. Was she supposed to go sideways? Backward? If she rolled, would she fall?</p><p>“No, I mean-” He choked off, giving a grunt of frustration, and next moment, his hands grabbed her hips, and she could feel the heat of his proximity against her back. “Grip with your legs, and push your hips outward, and up, he pulled at her, directing her where to go. She felt awkward as she stuck her rear out toward him, suddenly feeling a jolt of awareness that he was once again trapping her between his chest, and a tree. She didn’t have time to wonder if he would try anything funny, before his hands moved upward, making her jump slightly as he continued his instruction.</p><p>“Now replace your hips higher on the tree, while making the same motion with your stomach, and chest, <i>rolling </i>yourself upward.” His fingers dug into her ribs slightly as he pushed and pulled at her, trying to show her exactly how to do it. She gulped down her awkwardness and curled upward, banging slightly harder against the tree as she rested against the bark.</p><p>“Then your arms, one quick movement upward, returning you to your original position, and ready to do it over again.”</p><p>She gripped with her knees again, and jolted her arms upward, her chest leaving the tree for a millisecond as she regained her hold.</p><p>“Good. Again.” He barked, moving back, and taking his supportive hands with him. Hermione realized just how much of her weight he’d still been holding up, as she suddenly was left to brace herself, her arms weak, her legs trembling as she pulled them up. In the short moment that her legs left the tree, her arms gave out, and she fell to the ground for the last time that night.</p><p>“I can’t. I’m too tired.” She muttered, standing, and shaking out her sore muscles.</p><p>“Fine, we can try again tomorrow.” Snape said, his voice just as blank as his face. He was heading back toward their table and tent before she could look into his eyes, and all she could do was trail after him on quivering legs, hoping she didn’t fall over.</p><p>Hermione watched him douse the fire, and climb into the tent, zipping it behind himself. She gave him a few moments to change in private, waiting for the tent to reopen, so she could do the same. He stepped out in his usual black sweats and long sleeved T-shirt, his wand in hand. He moved around their small campsite, making the circles of protection before they turned in for the night. He walked farther out, setting the wards that would wake them before anyone could reach their protective barriers, as an added precaution, and Hermione slipped into the tent, grabbing her own pajamas, and changing hastily. The warm June air promised to get no cooler, so she donned shorts and a comfortable wireless bra, slipping a t-shirt over her head before finally unzipping the tent for her companion. She sat on her sleeping bag, rubbing at her sore legs with sore fingers, doubting the next day would bode any better. Her ribs still ached where he’d held her up, and her shoulders hurt from the strain of tree-climbing. She could see bruises forming on her knee where she’d knocked it against the first tree, and pulled up her shirt slightly, examining her hip, to find a matching splotch there as well.</p><p>“Do you need something for those?” Snape’s cool offer preceded him, his face entering the tent first, his eyes catching sight of her blooming blemishes.</p><p>“No. They’re not that bad.” She replied, dropping her shirt back in place. She settled between the sheets of her makeshift bed. Her sleeping bag provided good enough padding, but she was glad of her decision to pack sheets and blankets. She’d never much cared for the feeling of the bag’s material against her bare skin in the summer heat. She hid her bruised and aching legs under a flowery sheet, enjoying the cool cotton against her skin. She settled down into her bedroll, and closed her eyes, hoping her exhaustion would carry her quickly to sleep…</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. Stalemate</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>What felt like an eon later, she shifted for the millionth time, stretching her toes up and down to flex her legs, and rubbing futilely at her shoulder. It was like trying to fight a wildfire with a blanket, her attempts to relieve one shoulder making the other ache worse, her leg stretches feeling as though she were going to cramp a muscle any minute. She lay still for a moment, listening to the sound of a page being turned, and opened her eyes, chancing a peek over at the potions master. He lay facing toward her, his hand on his jaw propping his head up from his elbow on the ground. His right hand was poised above the book, his long fingers gripping the corner of one page, ready to turn it over as his eyes darted back and forth, reading at the speed of light. His left leg was stretched out down his sleeping bag, and his right was propped up behind it, his foot flat on the floor, his knee pointing straight up. He looked more laid-back than ever, and Hermione closed her eyes to the image, not really wanting to see him as any more relatable. If he would just maintain the batlike facade, she would have an easier time forgetting his fantasies and wouldn’t want to ask him for any favors, no matter how badly her legs hurt.</p><p>“It’s difficult to concentrate when you’re shuffling about like a nervous rat over there.” his voice was whisper soft, his eyes glued to his book, never ceasing their task as he noted her continued movement.</p><p>“Sorry.” Hermione choked out, turning her back on him, as if she could just ignore the memory of how he looked, his hair falling over his eyes, his white fingers sifting through pages delicately, his bare feet just as pale against his black pants, and charcoal sleeping bag. She frowned, and turned back over, looking at the substitute bed beneath him, noticing for the first time in the dim lighting that it, too, was devoid of color. She laughed suddenly, glancing from his black and grey side of the tent to her own light blue sleeping bag, assorted shades and patterns of sheets, blankets, and clothing. It was nearly comical.</p><p>“What’s so humorous?” He finally looked up, searching the tent for the joke.</p><p>“Nothing.” Hermione giggled, trying to bite back her laughter. He narrowed his eyes at her, sweeping the length of her own mattress, as if the secret were hidden under her sheets, or perhaps in her hands. Finally, he met her gaze, and she could see his confusion, irritation, and a dull contentment. He was comfortable sitting like that reading, his bare feet feeling freed after a day of hot dragonhide. Her laughter, irritating in its sudden and puzzling arrival was soft and girlish, the sound of her delight making his irritation with her lack of explanation ebb slightly. He picked out the feelings, colors, and a few words from her own head, and easily picked up on their meaning, glancing once down at his side of the tent, and then at hers. He gave a wry smile, and turned back to his book, cutting her off from whatever he thought in reply to her amusement.</p><p>“You may discover a more mature preference for your surroundings one day.” He muttered, his voice too quiet to be a real taunt. Hermione fought her grinning cheeks, and lay on her back again, her mirth over their clashing aesthetics not quite enough to distract her from the aching muscles and bones. She rolled to her side, facing the tent wall, and pulled one knee toward her chest, hoping a different position would relieve the discomfort.</p><p>“For the love of-” She heard his book snap shut, and winced, her eyes trying to peer over her shoulder without turning her head. “Are you going to keep this up all night? If you keep me up again-”</p><p>“No, I’m fine now.” Hermione lied, placing one arm under her pillow, and pretending to settle in, even as her calves began to beat with soreness once more. She heard him grumbling incoherently behind her, and heard the book reopen with a shuffling of pages, and his own crinkling of repositioning himself.</p><p>Hermione kept still for as long as possible, keeping her eyes closed, determined to fall asleep before she moved again. The throbbing got worse, seeming to resonate throughout her whole leg, into her knee, and all the way to her toes. She winced in pain as the throbbing became dull spikes of aching, repeating every so often as surprise jolts of misery. She switched sides, laying on her stomach, and switching the position of her legs, opening her eyes to see if Snape had been annoyed by her moving again.</p><p>He was lying flat on his back now, his black hair haloed around his head, the book held above his face. Both legs were bent, the ankle of one propped on the knee of the other, and one hand was behind his head, coming out to turn the page. The black material encasing his legs was stretched taught by the position, revealing the curves of muscle underneath. He was by no means a bodybuilder, but the shape of his thighs pressing into the cotton, and the swell of his chest as it rose and fell with breath were more than enough to secure the description ‘masculine’. She looked at his arms, remembering how it had been baggy on her dad, but seeing no spare fabric on her professor’s biceps. It seemed to fit him perfectly, not at all strained, but not at all loose, either. He turned the page, his free hand coming up to flip the paper, and his book-arm moving upward slightly to meet his other hand halfway. A flash of white caught Hermione’s attention, and her eyes fell to the pale skin revealed by the movement. His lifting arm had pulled the bottom of his shirt up slightly, revealing a triangle of pale hip, and a thin sliver of stomach. She could see a line of dark hair disappearing into his trousers, the definition of his hip, and the shockingly low set of his pants on his pelvis. Any lower, and the trail would no longer be just a trail. Hermione stared at the bared patch for a moment, her fingers thrumming with a desire to touch it. Was his skin as soft as it looked? Was the hair thicker or thinner from a front-facing angle? She swallowed the sudden dryness in her throat, and pulled her eyes away with difficulty. Only to see his fingers disappearing into his hair, propping his head slightly as he continued to read. It seemed that with nearly daily baths, and no cauldron to hunch over for hours, his hair had lost the greasy sheen, leaving it full-bodied, looking like black silk in the lamplight. Hermione’s fingers twitched again as she watched his own hand rub his scalp briefly. His hair <i>did </i>look touchably soft. Was this the Snape that terrified thousands of children? The very same Snape who’d been called an ugly bat, and a wooden, grim ogre. His half-lidded eyes looked nothing like the hateful black pools of malcontentment they’d been. He seemed almost bored, staring up at his book as though it were the last chore before turning in.</p><p>Hermione winced as her leg smarted with pain again, her fingers gripping the muscle in an attempt to alleviate the sharp ache.</p><p>“What’s wrong?” He’d sat up slightly, leaning on his elbow again, and looking over at her, his brow creased.</p><p>“Hm? Nothing. Just getting comfortable.” She lied, letting go of her leg, and making a show of stretching out again.</p><p>“Liar.” His face was almost as bored as his expression whilst reading, his cocked eyebrows the only thing to discern the difference.</p><p>“You don’t know that!” She argued, glaring at his knowing black eyes. A mistake.</p><p>“I do now.” He confirmed, smirking as he picked up on the lie in her thoughts. “Though the gasp of pain was a dead giveaway.” Hermione rolled her eyes, and turned away, refusing to let him read her long enough to see her embarrassment at staring at him for so long. The motion of sitting up had caused his shirt to cover up the swatch of skin, but after noticing the change in his hair, it seemed to plague her thoughts as he sat there, the black locks slightly mussed, looking almost fluffy as he stared across at her. She could still see his fingers disappearing into the thick mass, the strands feathering across his skin the way oily hair never did.</p><p>“Give me your leg.” His voice was a quiet command, and she nearly obeyed, sitting up, and turning to face him, before stopping herself, and giving him a look of disinterest, instead.</p><p>“No thank you, I’m fine.” She said, meeting his gaze, and feeding him only a dull twinge of her discomfort. It was manageable, and she felt a bit uncomfortable accepting another massage from him.</p><p>“We don’t have any pain or sleeping potions, and I’d like to rest sometime tonight.” He argued back, extending his hand, palm up, waiting for her appendage. He was sitting more upright now, cross legged, one arm resting on his knee, the other stretched toward her, waiting. She looked from his hand, to his eyes, reading them quickly. A small spark of irritation at the thought of being kept awake again. Another at being pulled from his book. A small swatch of sparkling yellow amusement as he felt her desire to let him soothe her muscles. A tight constricted tension as he waited for her to concede. And as her leg zinged with pain again, he knew that she would give in. She was too selfish not to.</p><p>“I’m not selfish.” Hermione huffed, crossing her arms, feeling like a petulant child as she looked away.</p><p>“I never said you were. But if we’re on the subject…” he trailed off, threatening her with his reasoning behind the thought. She puffed in a breath of air, and kicked her sheet off, keeping her arms crossed as she slapped her foot down in his palm, paying to keep him silent on her faults for a short while. He grinned winningly, and scooted closer, grasping her bare leg with both hands. She fought hard to keep her eyes open, and her voice mute as his fingers began working out the tension in her calf. Her fists balling under her arms was the only reaction she allowed herself, keeping her eyes away from his, in case he read her enjoyment in them. Her cranky, immature act wouldn’t hold up if he knew his hands felt like nirvana.</p><p>His fingers worked at the back of her leg for a moment, kneading out a knot, before they trailed higher, grasping the swell of her calf, and massaging firmly.</p><p>“Is this another natural talent?” Hermione asked, forcing sarcasm into her voice.</p><p>“No. It’s a skill I acquired as a young man, making pretty girls pliable and happy.” his voice matched hers for sarcasm, and she glared over at him, not quite daring to meet his eyes.</p><p>“So rubbing my legs is another of your strange tastes?” She purposefully distorted his words.</p><p>“Would you stop me if I said yes?” His voice was light, teasing, his lips twisted into a playful smile. Hermione met his gaze out of curiosity, knowing he was flirting, and wondering just what it looked like when he wasn’t beating the feeling back. She was met with a wash of pink, the feeling and shape seeming to fluctuate and beat with his pulse, morphing between teasing, complementing, and outright seducing.</p><p>“No.” Hermione admitted, and decided to play right back. “Like you said, I'm too selfish.”</p><p>“I never said that.” He argued, his eyes glittering with mischief.</p><p>“You <i>thought </i>it.” Hermione accused, experiencing the pink darken to nearly a fuscia in his thoughts, little flecks of light seeming to break through. Behind the flirtatious mass, she could see the same sparkling yellow of his hands on her legs, streaking with dark, blood red. She felt her brow crease with confusion as she cocked her head, trying to decipher the streaks of ruby. It didn’t feel bad, or gloomy, but it wasn’t exactly happy like the surrounding yellow either.</p><p>“I think a lot of things that aren’t true, Miss Granger, simply to, ah, what’s the term… Get your goat?” He smirked, glancing away, down at his work, effectively stopping her examination of the unfamiliar feeling. She pursed her lips and thought about it while his strong hands pulled her muscles into submission, wondering if she couldn’t place the harsh red because she’d never felt anything similar. The closer she’d gotten to those emotions, the more sharp they’d felt, almost violent. But a…  happy violence? She shook her head, giving up on figuring the emotion out for now.</p><p>“Other leg.” Snape ordered, his hands leaving her skin, waiting for the transition.</p><p>“But you didn’t…” Hermione cut the words off, and swerved her gaze right past his, quickly swapping her legs.</p><p>“I didn’t what?” He asked, his eyes trained on her, letting her leg rest in his hands motionlessly for a moment.</p><p>“Nothing.” Hermione said, keeping her gaze averted. She’d been expecting him to move up her thighs, like last time, but he’d stopped just below her knee. She beat back the twinge of disappointment, and shook her head, not caring that he knew she was lying, as long as he didn’t figure out the truth. He’d never let her live it down if he found out that she wanted more.</p><p>His fingers began to circle slowly, still watching her as he began to knead the current calf. She tucked her free leg underneath the one he held, and uncrossed her arms, fiddling with the hem of a sheet to distract herself from looking up. The warmth of his fingers on her bare skin was pleasant, increasing her enjoyment of the massage and reminding her of her sudden craving to touch him earlier. His hands were hard but smooth, calloused from his profession, though not the same as those of a builder or farmer. His skin was much paler than her own, even the untanned flesh of her thighs was darker than his hands. If it weren’t for his slightly pink lips, he would look completely monochromatic, his natural coloring matching his décor preference. Hermione considered for a moment that it had been what led to his colorless surroundings, and smirked, knowing it was entirely within the realm of possibility. The man had suffered years of discomfort to maintain a certain image, for Merlin’s sake!</p><p>“Do you actually prefer black, or do you like it because it makes you look more severe?” Hermione asked boldly, still refusing to look up. His fingers paused a moment, and then resumed as he thought.</p><p>“I don’t particularly like any other color better.” He answered, his fingers getting closer and closer to her knee. Hermione bit back the urge to ask him not to stop when he got there.</p><p>“You don’t have a favorite color?” Hermione asked, poking absent-mindedly at a lilac pattern on one of her sheets; her own favorite.</p><p>“Hm… Not one I can wear.” He stated. Hermione, confused by his answer, looked up, meeting his eyes in search of an explantation. His mind was awash with different colors, entirely opposite his physical presence. There was plum, scarlet, coral, dandelion, vermillion, honey, tan, wine, rose pink, light chocolate, dark copper, fuchsia, and the unfamiliar streaks of dark crimson. The memory colors blended confusingly with the shades of his emotions, leaving her more confused than earlier, unsure which color was the favorite, and which were just his thoughts. She recognized a few as emotions, the pleased yellow, the peculiar red, the playful fuchsia. The rest were a jumble that spun her around, leaving her clinging to the familiar ones for stability in his mind. The fuchsia was attached to several other colors, the plum, rose, tan, and wine. The yellow only had the streaks of red, so she steadied herself with that, immersing herself in the recognizable, to stop the whirlwind of color. She was surrounded by the feeling of smug cheer, the warmth of skin. <i>Her </i>skin. He was getting his own satisfaction from soothing her muscles, once again memorizing the feel of her under his fingers, the way her foot twitched as he worked out a knot, The comfortable flexibility of her leg outstretched, even though she slouched forward slightly.</p><p>Hermione could feel how much he enjoyed caressing the softness of her legs, how self-satisfied he was that he could tell she liked it more than she’d admit. He felt delighted that he could feel her discomfort from her thoughts, knew exactly where to touch, where she wanted him to massage. His boyish excitement that she wore shorts, and still let him do this. That thought was connected to a streak of red, and she tried to decipher the feeling again. It was rough, visceral, confusing. She could make out a desire to dig his fingers in, but everything else was indiscernible, raw emotion.</p><p>She moved to another, searching the surrounding yellow for context. A brief flash of tan, skin color, and pink. Her shorts, pink, and hanging slightly open, revealing more of her thigh, something he’d noticed, but not mentioned, enjoying the view momentarily, while trying not to make her uncomfortable. The dark red that came with it was just as vicious, more tightening fingers, a dark plum colored bruise, pink fabric being shoved up to reveal more leg.</p><p>Hermione could feel her face flushing as she moved to the next swatch of jagged red in his happy yellow thoughts, trying to prove what she suspected the unfamiliar red represented.</p><p>The yellow was relaxed, slouching, comfort. They were both comfortable, and relaxed, the massage and legilimency making neither pull away in discomfort yet. He was thrilled with her level of ease around him, but the crimson reared its head, morphing the delight into debauched thoughts. How much would she tolerate? Would she pull away if he massaged higher? Would she consider her bare thighs too intimate, or would she allow it? Would she take her shirt off, and let him do the same to her back? Her front? Would she relax more if he gave her a full body massage? What about post-coital? Would she be cuddly, or cold? She knew some of his kinks, and was still able to trust him to touch her so casually, all alone in the woods, with no witnesses. He imagined that if she ever did take him to bed, she’d be able to relax and trust him enough to try-</p><p>Hermione pulled her mind away from that thought, her theory confirmed. The dark red patches in his happy yellow were his perverted fantasies, being kickstarted by his enjoyment of touching her. They felt violent, because ‘violent’ was the only word she could relate to the grabbing, biting, choking, and pounding that filled those fantasies. It wasn’t as harsh, or evil as the torture she’d experienced, but it was merciless, vigorous, more like scrapping than love-making. Before seeing Snape’s mind, she’d never imagined such things could even <i>be </i>sexual, and now that he’d put the thought in her head, the curiosity of what else she might not know was threatening to consume her.</p><p>Snape’s fingers slid from her skin, leaving a slight tingle behind, and another small wave of disappointment and then shame as her grievance registered in his mass of enjoyment.</p><p>“Your shoulders, too?” He asked, his eyebrows lifting, his head cocked to the side as he offered to relieve the other pain he’d felt in her. There was a dark swatch of red that was wavering, trying to take hold, but he was pushing it back, maintaining an innocent, helpful disposition.</p><p>“I’m not taking my shirt off.” Hermione denied, but turned her back to him, and pulled her hair to the side, offering him her sore neck.</p><p>“That’s fine.” Snape’s voice was full of suppressed victory. Hermione grimaced at the tent wall, frustrated that in this position she couldn’t see his thoughts. At least he couldn’t see hers, either. She was free to think whatever she wanted, and as his long fingers splayed across her shoulders, she let her eyes drop shut, enjoying the warmth he rubbed into the nape of her neck. She felt the soft caress of his fingertips as he brushed a stray curl out of the way, the accompanying tingle in her scalp as the hair was relocated. His fingers did feel amazing, stroking, rubbing, squeezing, occasionally moving another escaped hair. His fingers worked from her hairline to her shoulder blades, and she began to feel a bit drowsy as he methodically undid her stress, but with that drowsiness, her mind wandered, turning over what she’d seen in his head, heedlessly comparing his tranquilizing hands to the harsh things he wanted to do with them. She could still remember the way he’d held her, ground his erection into her with passion, growled needily into her ear.</p><p>His fingers traced her hairline again, kneading gently at the base of her scalp and she arched up into the motion slightly, tilting her head, and causing his fingers to slip slightly into her hair. He kept stroking, amicably rubbing his fingertips through her roots. Her scalp tingled as she recalled the last time his hands had been in her hair. He’d been pressing her into the counter, kissing the life out of her, making her squirm with need. The rush of heat inside her at the memory was just what she didn’t need, and she shifted uncomfortably, feeling a familiar ache begin between her thighs.</p><p>Snape’s hands withdrew from her curls, slid down her neck, shoulders, and right off of her, dropping away, and leaving her feeling, once again, dissatisfied.</p><p>“Do your legs still hurt?” His voice was right behind her ear, his eyes peering over her shoulder, one brow lifted in curiosity. Hermione swallowed the cotton dryness from her throat, and opened her mouth to say no. Her lips puckered slightly, her tongue against the roof of her mouth, ready to reply, she found herself speechless. If she said no, he’d be done, and she could try to sleep. But if she lied, he’d keep touching her, and she had to admit, she did enjoy the way his hands felt on her.</p><p>“Mmhm.” She nodded, not quite meeting his gaze, but turning a bit to face him.</p><p>“Where?” He asked, looking down, ready to grasp wherever she indicated. Hermione swallowed again, pushing that thought from her mind, and turned her whole body, keeping her eyes just barely below his.</p><p>“Kind of… All over.” she lied, gesturing lamely at her legs in general, and her cheeks flushed, as she felt a wave of embarrassment. “You don’t have to, though, I-” she tried to backpedal, but was cut off as he snatched her foot up, his hands easily wrapping around it, and beginning to rub up and down, small circles of his fingers adding to the motion. Hermione’s words halted as he dug his thumbs in slightly, applying pressure to the arch of her foot, and dragging the force toward her toes.</p><p>“Ohh.” Hermione gasped, feeling like melted butter as he repeated the motion. Her face flamed brighter as she realized she’d practically just moaned over his ministrations. She didn’t have to read his mind to know he would be smug about it.</p><p>“I- I don’t think I’ve ever actually had a foot-rub before.” She quickly justified.</p><p>“No? Well, I’ll try not to ruin you for anyone else.” He was definitely arrogant, and his teasing voice held a trickle of innuendo. Hermione fought the need to look into his thoughts, keeping her eyes lowered, glaring at his stomach, instead of his face. She kept her mouth clamped tight, unwilling to let him have anything else with which to tease her. His hands worked miracles on one foot, then the other, all in silence as she refused to look at him.</p><p>“Do your calves still hurt?” He finally asked, his hands skimming down the portion in question, rubbing slightly at her ankles, as he waited for her answer. She shook her head without thinking, unwilling to lie quite so blatantly. His head nodded in acknowledgment of her answer, and his hands feathered their way back up her legs. He scooted a few inches closer, his hands circling her knee, stroking down the back of it in the same way he’d done to her foot. She swallowed another groan of indulgence, and propped her eyes open wide, worried that if she let them close, she’d envision other memories of him against her.</p><p>His hands caressed higher, massaging the lower part of her thigh, sparking an instant flood of heat from her core. Hermione bit the inside of her lip, refusing to move, or make a sound that could give away her embarrassing state. She thought about telling him to stop, coming up with some excuse, but she knew that the moment she opened her mouth to speak, he’d know the truth. She felt as though if she moved a muscle, her careful mask of indifference would crack, and he’d know just how inflamed he was making her.</p><p>His fingers danced higher, brushing the edge of her shorts, but never dipping beyond. It was like a horrible war inside Hermione’s mind, her burning need screaming for him to go further, while her logic and pride screamed for him to keep out. If he went any higher, she’d be forced to either allow it, or stop it, and he’d know, either way, that he was getting to her.</p><p>His hands slid to her other leg, and she released a slow, quiet breath of relief. She hadn’t realized how tense she’d gotten, until her shoulders relaxed, and she unclenched her jaw. She wanted so badly to peek at his thoughts, to see what he’d been thinking when he switched. Was he as aroused as she was? Did he know she’d lied about her legs hurting? His fingers brushed the opposite hem of her shorts, and she felt a mingling of relief and disappointment that it would be over soon. She wasn’t sure she could remain so rigidly still much longer, but even through her nervousness, she was still immensely enjoying his hands on her skin, warming it with friction, soothing it with pressure, and sending trails of fire straight into her bones.</p><p>He lifted his head, looking at her face, and dropped one hand to the ground, bracing himself. The other rested flat against her thigh, like a heated siren, focusing all of her attention on that one large palm, the slightly splayed fingers. She could practically feel her pulse underneath his hand, and nearly drew blood from biting her lips so hard when his fingers slipped a centimeter higher, pushing her shorts a fraction of an inch. It could have been accidental, but she knew from his title as potion’s master, that nothing his hands did would be unintended.</p><p>“Will you be able to sleep soundly, now?” His voice was a low murmur, drawing her eyes to the source, and then reflexively to the onyx orbs that would tell her so much more.</p><p>Of course she couldn’t sleep, she felt like she was about to explode from desire, and unlike <i>him</i>, she couldn’t even seem to assuage the discomfort.</p><p>She realized the moment their eyes met that he knew. He’d known from the first lie that she’d been fibbing just to keep his hands on her skin. He knew that she was flushed because she wanted more. He knew she wouldn’t be able to sleep. And he knew she couldn’t satisfy herself. Her face felt ready to catch fire it was so hot, and she jerked her eyes away, horrified that she’d forgotten for a moment that he would feel her silent reply to his question.</p><p>“What’s that?” Snape’s voice was still low, but curious, his face following hers, trying to catch her eyes again, to glean more understanding. She said a silent prayer of thanks that his wandless legilimency wasn’t as good as hers. He’d gotten the gist of her thoughts, but hopefully, he didn’t get the details. She yanked her face away again, turning it completely away from his eyes.</p><p>His fingers pushed her shorts up a few centimeters more, making her gasp in surprise, her hand lifting to push it away, too slowly. His palm had left her leg, the shorts merely a casualty in his hand’s path to her face. She’d looked down to stop his hand, just in time to see it lifting toward her. His fingers wrapped under her jaw, and he pulled her head back toward his, forcing her to face him. She was shocked, frozen in place as he stared down at her with obsidian attention.</p><p>She fell into his thoughts without trying, and slammed headfirst into a wall of red. A bright, pulsing scarlet, streaked with the blood-colored perversions that seeped into every other facet of his thoughts. She could feel the pulsing of the lust linked directly to the feeling of his erection, throbbing uncomfortably in his pajamas, demanding the same release her own organs were. His hand on her face was rougher than it should have been, his fingers squeezing her jaw a bit too tightly, the lust urging him to be forceful, aggressive. She could feel the itch under his fingers to pull her even closer, to grab her harder.</p><p>He was deciphering what he could see of her mind, placing the pieces together into a proper image, fully understanding what he’d caught a glimpse of moments ago. The realization made the lust surge, a particularly hard pulse racing through him as he stared into her eyes, contemplating whispering the spell to get a better understanding of what she was thinking. He could feel her arousal, her frustration, her annoyance at him. He knew she’d been unable to reach completion, but he was confused by that, not getting the reason <i>why</i>.</p><p>“I just can’t!” Hermione snapped, irritated by his complete lack of understanding, because <i>he’d </i>probably never had any problems!</p><p>“Why are you angry with me?” Snape asked, baffled. His piercing eyes latching onto her memory of hearing him wank, her own attempt, her failure, and her sourness at his easy sleep afterward. “‘You can’t’?” He echoed her statement, one brow arching in disbelief.</p><p>“No! I can’t! And don’t you even THINK of mocking me, Severus Snape!” She threatened, yanking her head away roughly, and tearing her gaze from his so she wouldn’t see whatever rude things he thought at her expense.</p><p>“I’m willing to bet you <i>can</i>.” He growled, his voice rough, dangerous. Hermione looked back to him, the hairs on the back of her neck standing up at his tone, her heart racing. He was leaning closer, his face inches from hers, his hair partially obscuring his eyes. Eyes that were looking at her like she was edible, and he was starving. Eyes that revealed his intent to her, seconds before he pounced.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>On the subject of Snape's favorite colors:</p><p>The colors Hermione sees in his mind are a mix of emotion, memory, and colors he's currently seeing.</p><p>He says 'none he can wear' because his favorite colors relate only to specific things. Some of the colors listed are representative of hair and eye colors of people he loves, things he enjoys seeing, or having, like wine swirling in a glass, the various colors of a naked body, etc.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0011"><h2>11. Severus Snape: Unabridged</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>His hand shot out, wrapping around the back of her neck, pulling her face to his. His mouth crushed hers, his face tilted slightly, parting their lips, and he moved forward, pushing her backward. She let out an involuntary gasp of surprise as she fell to her back, his lips barely leaving hers as he trapped her underneath him. His tongue was against hers, his body heat seeping into the front of her, his fingers tangling in the hairs at the base of her neck. She kissed him back, overwhelmed by his sudden onslaught, her mouth moving independently of her thoughts, her eyes squeezed closed, her hands automatically resting on his waist, reorienting herself after the plunge.</p><p>His free hand came out of nowhere, pushing one of her legs aside, his weight shifted as he settled between her splayed thighs. The sudden feeling of vulnerability made Hermione snap her eyes open, her hands slipped to his hips and she pushed, keeping him from pressing down into her. He didn’t seem to notice, his lips still possessing hers eagerly, his fingers squeezing her bare thigh. The legs of her shorts had fallen from the position of her lifted thighs, revealing more of her skin than ever, and leaving them exposed to his hot hand, and the feel of his cotton sweats brushing against the sensitive flesh.</p><p>“Wait, stop!” Hermione managed to gasp, turning her face just enough to break the kiss. With so much skin showing, and him kneeling over her, she was suddenly terrified of the thought of losing her virginity. A tent wasn’t much better than up against a tree, and the hardness of his hands, his kisses, they weren’t at all the romantic image she’d imagined for her first time.</p><p>His head lifted, giving her room to look up at him without their faces in contact. She felt her breathing, quick and choppy, her pulse racing with desire and fear. His black stare held hers, reading what she couldn’t force her throat to say. She could see the impression of her own fear in his head, everything still washed in red lust, before he rolled his eyes, and dipped his head back down.</p><p>“I’m not going to deflower you.” His mouth was at her ear, his teeth pulling gently at the lobe, his tone went from slightly miffed, to gruff, and needy. “Yet.”</p><p>“Then-” Hermione flinched, and caught her breath as his lips trailed gently down the side of her neck, doing her best to ignore their path back up as she spoke. “Then what are you doing?”</p><p>“I want to make you scream.” The words were just as sinister as they were sexual, his fingers tightening on her thigh as he said them, his voice a guttural growl that sent shivers up Hermione’s spine. His head lifted, and he looked in her eyes again, delving into her reaction to his statement.</p><p>She felt her head swimming, a jagged spike of uneasiness splitting through her arousal with his voice. He wouldn’t <i>really </i>make her scream, would he? Was he truly that sadistic? A thousand worries slipped through her thoughts, concerns about him hurting her, choking the life from her, forcing himself on her if she refused him.</p><p>“You wouldn’t. You’re not like <i>them</i>, I’ve seen the truth. You’re on our side.” She babbled, trying to soothe her own worries, more than argue his words. “You’re a good man, despite what you pretend.”</p><p>His hand slid from her thigh, bracing his weight on the ground, as he leaned up, giving her room to breathe freely as he stared down at her, a hard look on his face.</p><p>“Listen well, girl.” He growled, his face full of acrimony. “I’m not some pet for the Order. I wasn’t a spy because I’m a‘<i>good man</i>’. Whichever side I work against, remember, I am still a dark wizard.” His thoughts were pulsing red and black, nothing in them refuting his words, not even a hint of doubt inside him that he was telling the truth. “I may not enjoy outright torture, but I’m not <i>kind</i>.” His mind filled with flashes of his life: dropping a tree branch nearly on top of Petunia Evans, being sorted into Slytherin because he was cunning and ruthless, excelling at the Dark Arts, falling in with the worst crowd, creating his own Dark spells, using them without remorse, a few drops of steaming red liquid into a bottle, his father dead on the floor, doing everything in his power to ensure his success in the Dark Lord’s inner circle…</p><p>“You’ve been searching my mind for a month now, trying to figure out what I’m <i>really </i>like, so see now for yourself, the truth of Severus Snape.” He pushed his memories at her as he spoke, flashes of his school years intermingled with his life as a Death Eater, his potion’s apprenticeship, his career at Hogwarts. “I don’t <i>pretend </i>to be hostile, I am very much a dangerous man, and I’ve not once hesitated to further my own interests.”</p><p>He let the dishonorable memories fade, and his gaze softened slightly, her terrified face flashing through his thoughts.</p><p>“I’m not going to hurt you. Doing something that would cause you to truly hate me would be disadvantageous to my goal of bedding you.” He said crudely, his thoughts filled with the thought briefly, before it was replaced by his interpretation of her own mind.</p><p>She was nearly in tears, his words stinging her pride, making her feel like she was worth no more than a quick shag in his opinion. Her aching need for stimulation only made her feel worse, the reminder of how much she wanted the man who thought so little of her. His words threw into sharp relief how childish her assumption that he’d been less heinous toward her because he might actually <i>like </i>her was. Nothing he’d done had been for her, it’d been for himself.</p><p>His eyes closed, his face crinkled with frustration, and when he looked at her once more, his gaze was burning, urging her to understand what he said, what he thought.</p><p>“I don’t think of you as… as a piece of meat. I <i>do </i>want to fuck you, I want to make you scream my name with bliss, but not because I’m some randy young boy who can’t keep it in my pants. Because it’s <i>you</i>.” Memories of herself came to her. Frizzy haired over a cauldron, instructing her fellows as well as brewing her own. Bruised and beaten after a fight, but still standing, smiling and victorious. Her sleeping face, mouth hanging open slightly, hair everywhere, mumbling slightly under her breath in response to some dream.</p><p>“I know you desire me, and that’s enough for now, but I’m through pretending. I want you, I <i>care </i>for you, and I’m willing to do <i>anything </i>for you. I need you to understand that. I need you to understand <i>me</i>, as only one other has. I don’t want you to come to me as the result of lies, or trickery. I want you to choose <i>me</i>, not some mask.” His thoughts were in flux, warping around embarrassment at his words, his need for her to embrace him. His thoughts held his truth, the way he’d craved her before, how the need for her had grown with their month of solitude, his obsession becoming more rounded, filling out as he learned more details about her, something akin to love forming as he watched her learn and work toward finding a new headquarters. It wasn’t the same way she felt love, warm and caring. It was darker, protective, wary, consuming. Just as strong as he’d felt for Harry’s mum, but with more of an edge.</p><p>“You… you think you love me?” Hermione choked, her bewilderment warring with concern, and endearment. She couldn’t quite decide if she felt upset by his level of passion, or flattered.</p><p>“You think I’m obsessive?” He volleyed, his eyes narrowed in irritation.</p><p>“You are. I don’t think it’s on purpose though…” Hermione mused, searching his thoughts, seeing how very obsessed he was. He seemed to have dropped every single wall of his Occlumency, and with the unlimited access to his past, present, and emotions, she could see the way he’d obsessed for years over Lily. The way he’d been bedeviled by thoughts of Hermione, a student, completely out of bounds, and the only person left in the world who he seemed to want. Their month and a half together had only reinforced his torment, reminding him every day of what he couldn’t have, her training putting into focus how very real the danger to her life was. Visions of her sleeping, eating, charming, arguing, and reading all intensifying his desire to make her his. That thought alone was deeper than a well, the possessiveness of his desire for her, his lust to claim her, as more than a sexual partner, his will to drive every other wizard from her mind, and leave room for only him, even if it meant irritating her into thinking about him. But he was past that now. He didn’t want to have to provoke her to see her eyes burning with passion, to see her face flushed. His infatuation was dark in places, filled with fear, jealousy, and a push-pull of dominance over her, and giving her whatever she asked. But she saw lighter parts to it as well, his tranquility as he watched her read, his hope that she’d be able to outlive the war. A warmth that seeped into his own desire to live, to keep her safe, to make her happy, no matter what it cost him.</p><p>“You said you’re willing to do anything for me?” Hermione corroborated, looking away, to keep her thoughts from him for a moment.</p><p>“Anything within my power.” He clarified, his hair shifting as he tilted his head in puzzlement.</p><p>“Get off of me.” She ordered, knowing just how it would cause instant turmoil within him. His claim to give her what she wanted would war with his desire to take what he wanted, regardless of her words.</p><p>He pushed himself away, removing every point of contact he had with her, and shuffled the two feet to his own side, saying nothing as he stared at her, and she sat up.</p><p>“If I told you to leave, and kill yourself, would you?” She asked, keeping her gaze aimed at his chest, gauging his mental stability without letting him see her worries.</p><p>“I’ll go, but if you want me dead, you’ll have to do it yourself.” His voice was flat, but she didn’t dare look up.</p><p>“And if I told you to kill someone else?”</p><p>“That would depend on who.” He answered, lifting a hand to his face in thought. “Death Eaters, gladly. A bystander, no. You’d never be able to live with yourself if I actually followed through, and you were indirectly responsible for the death of an innocent.”</p><p>“So you’d kill innocents if I was able to get over it?” She asked, looking at the tent flap, and listening carefully to his voice.</p><p>“No- You’re-... I have no desire to tear apart my soul, girl, and I don’t enjoy killing. I will rephrase: I am not going to blindly follow commands like some attack dog. I will do things for your benefit, without the expectation of compensation. And yes, if it came down to your life, or that of a stranger, I would not hesitate to take that burden upon myself to keep you breathing. Though, if it’s a child, I make no promises on my adherence to that statement. Does that answer your question?”</p><p>“Yes, thank you.” Hermione replied, finally meeting his eyes. She felt a wash of relief at the honesty she found there, the revulsion he felt at the thought of how he’d pointed his wand at Albus at the end. He never wanted to feel that again, but compared to how he’d felt after Lily had been taken from the earth, there was no contest for which he’d prefer. He felt frustrated that he was so far from her now, unable to feel her skin under him, or watch her face contort with pleasure. He was worried about how little of a reaction she was having to his honesty. He’d been expecting her to lose her mind, and have to take at least a few days for her to cool down before he could talk to her again. But she seemed so calm, accepting. Was she occluding her anger, shock, or revulsion? No, that wasn’t like her. He could see her turning his revelations over in her mind, weighing them separately, and as a whole, trying to make a decision on whether she could allow this, whatever it was, to continue. He contemplated that for a minute, the odd balance of sexual tension, and repeated attacks on her mouth. He would desist if she asked, but he was also willing to do more. Whatever she wanted- needed, he was willing to give, no restrictions, no awkwardness, no uncomfortable pushing if she wanted to stop.</p><p>Hermione felt her face darken as she realized he was aiming these thoughts at her, more like an offer than a statement.</p><p>“Are you offering to be… Friends with benefits?” She asked, using a term she’d heard a classmate voice once. The thought made her uneasy, the idea of something so casual not something she’d ever considered doing before.</p><p>“Would you even consider this a friendship?” He returned derisively. Hermione thought that yes, she supposed she had started to think of him as sort of a friend. A moody, antagonistic friend, but still someone she could rely on.</p><p>“Don’t get off track, answer the question.” Hermione covered up her embarrassment with irritation.</p><p>“No. I’m offering to <i>be </i>whatever you desire. If you want me to be far away from you, I’ll go, as far away as I can get. If you want me to be close to you, I will be as close as you want.” His voice was low, husky, full of promise. Hermione struggled for a moment to think around his offer, to remember whatever else they’d been discussing a moment ago.</p><p>“Why the sudden candor?” She asked, feeling his arousal ebb and flow like a tide as they chatted, as though the conversation was distracting him, but not completely.</p><p>“As I said: I’m through pretending. To hell with morally objectionable,” His words were accompanied by flashes of his own doubt, his own self-flagellation over her being so much younger, his student. “To hell with what anyone else might think.”</p><p>His thoughts were a swirling mass of self-confidence, red-streaked lust, and shimmery steel-colored determination. After years of playing different parts for different people, he wasn’t quite sure how to be himself anymore. So he was offering her the basest, truest form of himself: his entire mind. He didn’t know how to be himself around anyone else, but he wanted her to see him. He’d been afraid that letting her see this much earlier on would have frightened her away from him forever, but now, he knew she was strong, fierce, and he hoped she wouldn’t find the confusing contradictions inside him to be worthy of abandonment.</p><p>“I’m not scared of you, Professor.” She confirmed aloud for him, her eyes sifting through his kaleidoscopic mind with eagerness. She was the first person to ever freely have access to the plethora of Severus Snape’s secrets, and each one she discovered was like another piece of a puzzle. The puzzle of Snape. She gave a soft laugh at the imagery, noting how the truth of him seemed less like a puzzle and more like a coded book, to which she was merely deciphering the various indexes. A few of the pieces were familiar, his awful childhood, his love for Lily, the woman choking with pleasure. Without him putting up barriers, she realized just how talented he was at Occlumency. She’d managed to steal a few glances at his secrets, but he’d managed to keep many more hidden, and even the ones she glimpsed hadn’t been whole.</p><p>She lingered a bit on the image of his fingers wrapped around the woman’s neck, her eyes rolled back, her hands clutching the sheet. He’d fed her that once before, but had kept much of the memory hidden. In its entirety, Hermione could hear the woman’s grunts and moans, feel his cock slamming into her, smell the sweat and sex that filled the room. Their bodies made a loud, nasty slapping noise, and the woman’s hips bucked underneath him, her walls clenching as she neared orgasm, and through puffed, reddened lips, she managed to croak ‘harder’. Her face nearly turned beet-red as Snape’s fingers gripped tighter, and a her head pushed forward, encouraging more, more. She was crying out, her voice choking off strangely through his hold, her body trembling as she climaxed, and Severus released her, letting her gasp in air as he braced himself with her thighs, and hammered into her, driving her orgasm further, making her voice hitch, high-pitched, and completely unaware of the world around her as she was driven beyond coherence, and then pushed further, his fingers alighting between her legs, twirling quick circles to keep her flying along whatever cloud she was on.</p><p>Hermione pulled away from the memory, and inspected an unfamiliar one at leisure. It was from earlier that very day, her climbing lesson. He’d been fighting back laughter as he watched her try to climb, and had difficulty keeping his face calm as she fell on her rear. He’d suggested the smaller tree, and as he stepped closer to help her ‘roll’, he could smell her shampoo, floral, and feel the warmth of her back. His hands on her hips was much too tempting, so he quickly moved his hands to her ribs, trying to dispel the urge to press into her and show her what he meant. Her rear had been shapely, the denim hugging her hips and thighs as she attempted to do what he instructed. His hands left her like she was on fire, and as she fell again, he had to turn away to keep her from seeing both his face, and the slight tent in his trousers. He’d wanted to bury his face in her hair, pull her jeans down, and take her right there. But he wouldn’t. He felt a bit guilty for taking so much pleasure from such a simple task, and he looked forward to future hands-on lessons.</p><p>Hermione pulled away from that memory, too, and searched for something to give her an idea of why she should say no to him. What was he scared for her to see?</p><p>Another familiar image cropped up, the naked woman, the one Bellatrix had tortured for days. It was clearer, more detailed, and thicker than he’d ever let her see. Bellatrix had dragged the woman in by her hair, burned her clothes right off her body, leaving a few blisters behind where the cloth clung to skin. Voldemort had watched with glee as the woman was forced to her knees before him and made to beg for his mercy, to disparage herself, and all muggles. She’d suffered through several rounds of the cruciatus before the snake-faced villain had sat down in a chair, and gestured for Bellatrix to give the woman what she deserved. Hermione let the scene play out, fighting back revulsion as she felt Snape’s own bile rise at the sight of the woman beaten, healed, whipped, raped, and cursed. She was trembling on the ground, freezing, in agony, but no longer possessing any will to fight, or flee. <i>“Severus, come, play.”</i> Bellatrix had taunted, the words more than an invitation. In front of the Dark Lord, he dare not refuse. He dampened his own disgust, fixed a cruel smile on his face, and stepped forward, pulling his wand from his robes. The woman rose into the air with a silent flick of his wand, and gave a half-hearted wail of fear as she hung upside down by her ankle. As he got closer, he could see her tears, her filthy face, her bleeding skin. <i>“I suppose you want her alive after I’m finished?”</i> he’d asked callously, circling as if to find the best part of an animal. Hermione watched horrified as Snape locked his humanity in a box, cleared his mind of anything but mild disgust and revulsion that he directed toward the woman, knowing that his Master would be in his thoughts every moment he spent hurting the woman. He lifted his wand, and cast spell after spell, implementing more pain on her already beleaguered body. He tuned out her screams, her cries, and the surrounding people’s encouragement, and focused solely on the Dark Arts he was practicing. He could smell the blood, the mess she’d made earlier, pissing herself in fear, and the sick that she’d spewed after Bellatrix had sent a harsh nausea charm at her. He could see the tired look in her eyes as she resigned herself to her death, and then, when she was inches from grasping that final darkness, the Dark Lord himself stepped forward. <i>“Enough, Severus. You’ve had your fun, and now it’s time for dinner.”</i> The woman dropped to the floor, and Severus stepped away, letting Bellatrix do what she would to keep her alive, or let her die. He didn’t allow himself to hope for the latter, but knew that it was the merciful option.</p><p>Another memory swam in, and broke Hermione’s stoic silence. She whimpered slightly as the face of her best friend swam before her, slightly blurry, but the green eyes prominent, defined. He was dirty, battle-worn, and looked both melancholy, and confused. <i>“Look at me…” </i>Snape’s voice choked from a searing throat, the venom feeling like fire filling his neck, shoulder, and traveling up along his jaw. It felt like it was constricting his throat, making it more difficult to breath, and through the burning pain, he felt cold. He knew he was bleeding to death, and as the three forms above him blurred, he could feel his consciousness slipping away. The pain receded slightly, and he floated, glad for the reprieve, but hoping he went completely soon. He could still feel his breath pulling slowly, haltingly into his lungs. And then that, too, stopped. The venom had stopped burning, and he was enveloped in cold, and if he’d had the strength even to shiver, he would have. His lungs were starting to burn, and his lips parted, trying desperately to pull in air that didn’t seem to even exist anymore. A loud explosion shocked his whole frame, jostling his throat and lungs into choking in one last breath, an extension of his death, and as soon as the oxygen flooded him, his thoughts came back, and he regretted the lungful. The pain was unbearable, the cold was relentless, and the urge to cough and choke as his lungs pulled in a second breath was hindered only by the inability to move forcefully enough to cough. He just wanted to be dead already. He deserved to be dead after everything he’d done. But there was a voice, and he tried to focus… A spell? His next breath didn’t include the need to choke, and he felt a wave of despair. Someone was trying to save him. He wanted to scream at them to leave him to die, but he heard them begging for help. A tapping at his face was more startling than the words, and his eyes focused beyond the darkness, seeing a mass of brown hair. Familiar, frazzled. She was here, torturing him in his last moments, reminding him of just one more thing he was dying for. But she was panicked, her eyes wide, and the dust swirling around her face reminded him of the blast. She was in danger, and she was asking for his help. He knew that she had no idea about his sick fantasies involving her, but he felt the need to atone for them, regardless. <i>Home…” </i>He finally managed to choke, recalling his store of blood replenishers, and anti-venom. If she needed his help, he would have to keep himself alive awhile longer. His eyes drifted shut, and he felt the sucking vortex of Apparation, and passed out completely.</p><p>Hermione let the memory drift away, feeling her shoulders shake slightly, and her eyes focused on the Snape before her. He’d moved closer, and was holding out his hand. She looked at it in confusion a moment, before realizing he held out a handkerchief. The present world snapped into place, and she felt her cheeks tickling with tears, her eyes burning, and her breath catching in her throat. She grabbed the linen square and buried her face in it, using it as a shelter from his gaze as she forced herself to calm back down. She’d just experienced him nearly dying, as though it had been her, and it had shaken her beyond what she might have expected. She’d been running for her life for the past year, but actually <i>feeling </i>the slow trespass of oblivion was terrifying, and her own body seemed to be rejecting the feeling, reassuring her with hiccuping sobs and an influx of emotion that she was very much alive.</p><p>“Shh… It’ll pass.” He murmured, and she felt a gentle hand brush at her hair. He was trying to comfort her, while maintaining the distance she’d requested earlier. Her chest was shaking, and her thoughts were tumultuous, but she knew one thing for certain: he’d earned her complete trust.</p><p>She scooted forward, seeking more of his soothing words, and calming touches, her lips trembling as she held back a total lack of control.</p><p>“You’re safe…” He whispered, his arms wrapping completely around her shoulders, holding her against his chest. Hermione blindly buried her face into him, accepting the warm circle of his arms, letting his presence and voice bring her slowly out of her swirling terror. Her heart was hammering against her ribs, and her cheeks felt flushed with her tears, but her breathing slowed, and her tears trickled to a halt. She tried to swallow the sticky lump in her throat, and opened her mouth to suck in a deep, shuddering breath. She could almost taste his scent around her, and she sniffled a few times, using her runny nose as an excuse to smell him more deeply. He smelled like the soap they both had been using, and an undercurrent of natural spice. It was heady, and made her want to bury her face deeper in his shirt.</p><p>She pulled back slightly, wiping at her face as his arms slid down her back, allowing her to lean away, without releasing her.</p><p>“How-” Her voice croaked, and she cleared her throat, her cheeks flushing as she tried to speak. “How’d you do that?”</p><p>“Do what?” He asked, meeting her gaze levelly, and seeing a deeper understanding of her question in her thoughts. She put her question to the forefront, returning his words, his embrace, and her confusion at how quickly it had managed to calm her down. His thoughts were still open, but more jumbled than she’d ever seen them, nearly inseparable from one another, all a muddled technicolor of emotions and observations. She could feel him debating how much to tell her, part of his thoughts locked up away from her, as he contemplated in private, and then, the safe broke, and he let her in once more.</p><p>He kept each brief, merely as an explanation to his actions, rather than another full memory for her to experience. The feeling of being too cold, or not being able to breathe, lungs on fire. Spinning off into darkness, while the world faded away. Being revived before he got too far, and left to recover on his own, feeling just the way she had when she’d come out of his thoughts.</p><p>“It wasn’t the first time I’d almost died. Just the closest I’ve gotten.” He added the words aloud, putting the images into perspective for her. There were at least two other times he’d shown her of the near-death experiences. She cautiously gave one a tug, preparing herself for what she might find out. He didn’t stop her, but his hands tightened on her back in warning as she delved head-first into his body, as though she were staring out through his eyes, looking up at the pale-faced snake above her. He was gloating, but she couldn’t hear, and her lungs were burning, demanding air that simply wasn’t there. Voldemort’s wand was pointed at them, and his mouth moved as he looked around at his followers, making an example of the tardy Severus. It was after Cedric’s death, and though Lord Voldemort appreciated Snape’s forethought in not blowing his cover with the Order, he still needed to be put in his place. Or so he’d claimed, before sucking the air right out of his lungs, and leaving him to suffocate on the stone floor. Severus’s mind was swirling into blackness, and he passed out, all feeling fading as he writhed, and Voldemort paid his choking body no mind, as though he were going to let him die. He’d woken up a few hours later, his head pounding, his lungs feeling inadequate to the task of rejuvenating his body. His muscles ached, and he felt too warm as blood pounded through him, reminding him that he still lived. He’d shaken slightly as he stood, and kept his hatred locked tightly behind self-loathing as he groveled before his Master, praising his mercy, and begging forgiveness.</p><p>Hermione tugged at the second strongest memory, and a chill washed over her mind. Snape stood in his Hogwarts lavatory, the door to his bedroom hanging open, as he stared into the mirror above the sink. His whole body was trembling as he poked his wand at his own skin, slowly sealing the various bloody cuts that were scattered across him. Blackness was edging his vision, and the chill was coming more from inside him than the dank dungeon. He’d lost a lot of blood already, and the wounds were slow-healing, his own <i>Sectumsempra </i>curse more painful than he’d imagined. Some of the wounds were merely skin-deep, others seemed to gouge muscle, and he knew if he didn’t finish soon, he would die from blood loss. His breath was short shakey pants, and his face was streaked with blood where he pushed his hair out of the way to see his work better. Hermione saw his face in the mirror, and gasped slightly. He was much younger, nearly her own age, his hair was shorter, but still a chin-length disaster of grease, beginning to clump together with his own blood as he pushed it again from his eyes. She could feel his thoughts from the memory, and feel the anger at ‘Kasey’. A fellow Death Eater, who’d accused him of being a traitor, and used his own curse against him. He was dead now, Snape’s shield charm protecting him from the deadly second curse the man had launched, while bouncing it right back at the caster. Snape had managed to get himself back to Hogwarts, and into his chambers, the summer air stinging his wounds through his robes until he closed the chamber door behind him, and began stripping, wincing in agony as the black fabric peeled from the bloodied skin, and pulled at the cursed gashes. His wand nearly vibrated with his hand tremors as he spelled a wound at his shoulder closed, his vision fading, as a pounding sounded at his door. McGonagall’s voice came through to the bathroom, demanding to know why there was a trail of blood, asking if he was well. His wand clattered into the sink, his fingers no longer able to grip it, and the floor rushed up to meet him, blood soaking the tiles he fell, his eyes wide, and his breathing nearly imperceptible as he heard McGonagall enter, and Dumbledore’s voice close behind, but there was nothing they could do. Only he knew the countercurse, and no matter what McGonagall was saying about it being okay, he knew he had mere moments left to live. Darkness overtook him once again, and he was left in a swirling, frigid void while the pain ceased, and and his breathing trembled determinedly into his lungs, desperate to keep him alive, even as he bled out.</p><p>Hermione pulled away, knowing that McGonagall and Dumbledore must have saved him, and stared at the black eyes above her with a newfound respect. He’d been through a very real hell, and suffered nearly in silence, only able to wish for the same comfort he’d provided her.</p><p>“Thank you.” Snape’s voice was low, his eyes narrowed with some emotion, and she frowned up at him, confused. “For not pitying me.” He explained, one hand lifting away from her back, to stroke her hair again. It was a pleasant feeling, and she leaned her head into it slightly, pulling her eyes from his to hide her own thoughts. He was touching her hair casually, still holding her, and she was embarrassed. He was being completely honest with her, showing her what he wanted, what he was, and she couldn’t even admit to him that she was enjoying his attentions. For him, all she could be was a coward. She wanted to touch him back, to breath in the scent of him, to lean up, and kiss him, and try to make him forget for a moment what his past held. She felt a stab of envy as his fingers sifted through her hair again, and she darted a glance up at his silky black locks. She wanted to feel his hair, and inspect the trail of black curls she’d seen disappearing into his sweats, and feel the warm skin that was so pale it seemed like it should be cold to the touch. She wanted to be hugged, and comforted, and able to relax around him as though they were actually friends.</p><p>She pulled away, removing herself from his arms, and closed her eyes, trying to clear her thoughts. Did she actually want <i>him</i>, or was it an unavoidable side-effect of being alone except for him for over a month? Was she just craving affection, and he happened to be there? Was she mistaking her own loneliness for an attraction to him? She thought of how she’d known she fancied Viktor, the dark eyes, the way he seemed absolutely engrossed with her in her disheveled state of study, when no other had even hinted at her being even passably pretty. She’d appreciated how he tried to explain in broken English that he kept coming to the library to see <i>her</i>, and that he didn’t want the horde of girls following him.</p><p>She’d felt for Ron for a long time before they’d even kissed, and had been torn apart internally when he’d snubbed her for Lavender. She thought of Severus, putting off his much desired death to keep her alive, teaching her how to enter his mind, though he knew what she’d find there. She wondered briefly how she’d feel if he suddenly showed up with another woman, and pawed all over her the way Ron had been with Lavender. A spike of anger filled her, and she glared at the ground while Snape sat silently, watching her face twist with thought.</p><p>“Did you and Harry’s mum ever… take things further?” She asked, keeping her eyes down, unwilling to let him see her envy at the thought of Lily Evans having more than an emotional hold on the man.</p><p>“No. Why?” He answered after a moment, his fingers curling into loose fists, the only indication that he was uncomfortable.</p><p>“No reason.” She lied, and pulled a blanket of calmness over her thoughts, covering everything but her indecision as she looked up to meet his eyes. She kept her own thoughts well-guarded from his limited abilities, and plundered his mind.</p><p>He wanted to touch her more, wanted her to be familiar with him caressing her. There were brief flashes of fantasy, where she sat reading, and he walked up to her, and casually ran his hand through her hair, or over her shoulder, and she didn’t pull away. These were followed by a partial fantasy in the reverse, of her, reaching out to him, not at all inhibited in her easy grasp of his hand. He’d nearly melted with satisfaction when she’d leaned into his embrace, and let him comfort her. The mere thought of her being comfortable with him was making him gleeful, his mind sparkling bright yellow, interspersed with black strips of doubt. She inspected one, and saw it was attached to his current thoughts, his eyes watching her, her mind locked from his inspection, and he was beginning to worry. She was clearly debating something, by the calculating look in her eye, and the firm set of her mouth, but he couldn’t tell <i>what </i>she was debating. He was starting to worry that she was thinking about telling him to leave for good, or about to declare that she never wanted him to touch her again. She’d seen some of the worst parts of him, and some of the best, and he was nearly terrified that she was going to judge him not-worthy. Just the way Lily had. She’d been unable to accept the darkness that was a part of him, and had been unable to forgive his most shameful error, calling her a Mudblood in an attempt to save his own pride while James Potter dangled him upside down, and taunted him. Inside his head, Hermione could see what Harry’s mum never had. The instant regret and shame that took over as soon as the words had left his mouth. He never actually believed that tripe. He was just afraid. His father had terrorized him and his mother; Potter and Black had tormented him, and the only way to stop the cycle was to become more powerful than them all. So he’d accepted the invitation of his housemates to the secret gatherings. He’d loved what he’d found in the tomes on Dark magic, and he’d excelled at making his own life more miserable by simply trying to keep the fear at bay. He’d managed to rid himself of fear, but it had been replaced by anger, resentment, self-loathing. He’d become exactly what he hated. A bully. And he loved being one. He loved being the one in charge for once, the one that made others cower. He enjoyed trying to drag everyone down into his misery, without actually appearing miserable. Never again would he let anyone see his true emotions. Never again would anyone be able to make him afraid for his pride, his self-confidence, or his ego. Until he allowed a pair of soft brown eyes to peer into his skull, and see everything. Hermione Granger had the power to send a chill of fear up his spine as she sat, silently judging what she found. He let the fear trail through him, acknowledging it as he never had before. He’d only ever tried to push it back, to override it, but now, he welcomed it as an old adversary, recognizing its existence, without letting it shut him down. He knew who he was, and he could accept himself, whether she did, too, or not. He wanted her, but never again would he hide who he was, just to placate someone else.</p><p>“I didn’t think Slytherins could be brave.” Hermione teased gently, letting her lips lift into a small smile. He smirked back.</p><p>“Well, it’s only taken me nearly forty years.” He joked back.</p><p>“How old are you, anyway?” Hermione asked, not bothering to cover her interest with the blanket that hid her other thoughts. She’d denied him being ‘that old’ when he’d had her pinned to the tree, but she was suddenly curious just how much older he was.</p><p>“I turned thirty-eight in January.” Snape answered, his mind providing a brief flash of McGonagall’s terse ‘happy birthday, headmaster’ her clipped tone not at all celebratory. He’d all but forgotten it until the witch had said the words, and he’d spent the rest of the day brooding about how very unhappy of a birthday it was. Hermione’s mind was quick with the math, determining just how much older than her he was. Nineteen years. This year she would be exactly half his age. He wasn’t yet forty, which somehow put her at ease. As though forty was some marked barrier between ‘older’, and ‘too much older’. It didn’t sound quite so bad when she thought <i>‘Next year, I’ll be twenty, and he’ll still be in his thirties.’</i> It made the age-gap seem much smaller to think of it in generalizations like that.</p><p>“Don’t try to dress it up, girl.” He snapped, his eyes flashing as he gave her a stern glare. “I’m twice your age, and no amount of word play will change it.”</p><p>Hermione nodded sheepishly, and turned her eyes away from his irritation, perfectly understanding that he didn’t want her to pretend the issue wasn’t present. He knew it was there, and he’d worked through his own guilt about it. They both knew that Ron, or another classmate would be the ‘proper’ choice for her. He was hoping she’d overlook propriety, and choose him, instead. She was tempted to, but her thoughts of Ron brought another bout of guilt for her.</p><p>She’d fancied Ron for so long, and almost as soon as he seemed to reciprocate, they were torn apart. What sort of cruel joke was the world playing on her? If she believed in signs from a higher power, she might take it as one, but her logical mind was unwilling to thrust aside reason for superstition. Her body, apparently, was totally willing to thrust aside reason for passion, though, and she glanced back toward the raven-haired man sitting across from her. He managed to seem masculine, even just sitting there, making Ron seem boyish in comparison. Even Viktor, the well-muscled quidditch star didn’t seem to have the same effect as Severus Snape, and no one in their right mind would call the seeker ‘boyish’. Perhaps it was the fact that he was twice her age, or perhaps the fact that he’d endured more damnation than any other man she knew, and was still alive, healthy, and so sure of himself that he could still relax.</p><p>Part of her was tempted to keep him at arm’s length, to wait for Ron, because she <i>would </i>rescue him. Another whispered that there was no guarantee she would be able to rescue Ron, and that even if she did, he may be so damaged he wouldn’t be able to love again. That perhaps he’d say his kiss during the battle hadn’t meant what they’d thought. Any number of things could happen, and she could be stuck, waiting for a boy who might never love her back, just to see some teenage crush through to the end.</p><p>Or she could take a giant leap off the deep end, and give in to her illogical desire to touch the surly man who’d tormented her throughout her school years. Maybe her passion toward him stemmed from her previous hatred of him? She’d heard someone say once that love and hate were closely related, and could easily turn on each other. She didn’t love Snape, but she appreciated him. She wanted him to herself. She respected him, and wanted so badly to snatch his offer to be whatever she needed. She just wasn’t sure what she needed.</p>
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<a name="section0012"><h2>12. To The Touch</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Professor…” Her voice was still thick with her previous tears, and with the fear of her own selfish desires.</p><p>“Hm?” His head jerked slightly, as though he’d been looking elsewhere, and had looked back to her face when she spoke. She swallowed nervously, and pushed herself to her knees, keeping her eyes from his, knowing that she would be unable to hide her thoughts from him, that she was too anxious.</p><p>“Close your eyes, and don’t move.” She ordered, shuffling the short distance into his space. She looked at his chin, and watched from her peripheral as he studied her a moment, and then let his eyes fall closed, protecting her from his searching gaze. She looked into his face fully, then, inspecting the wearied shadows under his eyes, the soft lines that were starting to show on his forehead from years of scowling. His eyelashes were dark, casting more shadows across his bruise-like half-moons of exhaustion. His skin was pale, but clear, no longer having the same oily texture his hair had had. There was slight stubble across his chin, darkening his jawline, and making him seem even more virile. His lips were a pale pink, his nose was prominent, and his brows, she noticed, had a nice shape. They weren’t bushy, or too thin, or patchy. They arched elegantly into the hair that framed his face, and led Hermione’s eyes right to the silky black curtain that looked so soft.</p><p>“Keep them closed.” She reminded quietly, lifting her hand. She didn’t want him to read her expressions any more than she wanted him to read her mind. She’d be done for if he knew just how much she enjoyed staring at him, touching him.</p><p>Her fingers closed around a small strand of his hair, and she twisted it lightly, feeling the texture. It really did feel like silk. She pushed her hand more fully into his hair, running her fingers along his scalp, and then down to the tips that brushed his shoulders. He gave the tiniest twitch of his head, but no other indication that he even realized she was touching him. His face remained impassive, and his hands stayed on his thighs. She repeated the motion, enjoying the fullness of his soft hair. She buried her other hand in the opposite side of his hair, holding it away from his face, and taking in the view of his high cheekbones, and the tapered ends of his eyebrows. Without his hair in his face, and without a sneer in his features, he looked almost regal. His contrasting hair and skin tones added to the sharp allure of his features. He no longer looked demonic, and without the vicious fear his usual face instilled, he was more attractive than anyone would have ever thought him capable of being.</p><p>She kept her thoughts to herself, and pushed his hair back further, revealing white ears from amidst the dark shield of hair. She smiled ruefully, thinking that it might’ve been the first time she’d ever actually seen his ears. She let her right-hand fingers skim the contours of one ear, and his head jerked more violently, his lips twisting in discomfort, his brow creasing for a moment, before he stilled, returning to an impassive statue beneath her touch.</p><p>“Do you not like your ears being touched?” She inquired, holding her fingers away from the pale shell, in case he was strangely ticklish. His brow creased, but his eyes stayed closed as he answered.</p><p>“I wasn’t expecting it.”</p><p>Well, he hadn’t told her not to, so she tested it again, skimming her fingers around the outer curve, and then back up the inner slopes, keeping her fingers feather-light, and watching his face off and on as she searched for any ticklish spots. He didn’t even twitch a muscle, his face as still as ever, his head locked into place. So she searched lower, trailing her nails down the side of his neck, feeling suddenly vengeful. He’d teased her for weeks, and if she could find his most sensitive patch of skin, she could use it against him in future. He didn’t flinch at all, and she frowned, contemplating making a quick lunge for his stomach. He’d likely be furious if she made so bold a move to tickle him. She was rather enjoying him being calm and compliant, and decided against it. She could surreptitiously try tickling his torso if he tried to snog her senseless again. She could claim it was an accident.</p><p>She slid her hand back into his hair, feeling rather greedy as she fondled the black locks with enthusiasm. She’d done Ginny’s hair on occasion, but it was a totally different sensation from touching a grown man’s hair simply for the pleasure of feeling it.</p><p>“Is this irritating you?” She asked, mildly curious, wondering what his passive mask was hiding. He didn’t seem like the kind of man to enjoy being stroked like a dog.</p><p>“No.” He answered, not offering anything else.</p><p>“Do you like it?” She attempted to glean more from him, staring at his face once more. His lips twitched with some suppressed thought, before he answered.</p><p>“It’s… pleasant.” His brow furrowed, and she could see his eyelids twitch with the desire to open.</p><p>“No peeking.” She ordered, pulling her hands away slightly. He gave a short sigh, but kept his eyes closed.</p><p>“May I ask <i>why </i>you’re adamant about me keeping my eyes closed?” He sounded a bit peeved, and she understood why without having to see in his head. He was so used to being able to know nearly everything, simply by watching, that without his eyes, he felt nearly bereft. He had no idea what she was thinking, and it was driving him mad.</p><p>“For the same reason you want them open. You’re much too good at reading people, even without eye-contact.” She answered honestly, and decided to elaborate a bit to her own embarrassment. “I want to look at you without the embarrassment of you looking back.”</p><p>He made a deep noise of understanding in his throat, and made no other move, letting her get back to her inspection without his arguing.</p><p>“Did you notice how nice your hair’s started to look?” She asked, partly wanting a real answer, and partly just wanting to hear his voice again. It was deep, nearly as smooth as his hair, and was making her want to kiss his throat, to feel the vibration of his voice against her lips.</p><p>“Yes.” His answer was short, and unsatisfying. She frowned at him, thinking quickly of a way to get longer replies, without sounding too interested in making him talk.</p><p>“Why was it so oily before?” She knew part of the answer, but congratulated herself on finding a simple interrogation that would garner a multiple word response.</p><p>“Side-effect of brewing potions, mostly. Likely also the hempseed oil I combed through it to keep it out of my face.”</p><p>“You purposefully made your hair greasy?” She prompted, and saw his eyelids twitch again, but remain closed.</p><p>“I don’t particularly care what my hair looks like.” He admitted. Hermione looked him over, and wondered if he was lying.</p><p>“Then why do you keep it long?” She asked, watching her fingers play with a portion, rolling it between thumb and forefinger.</p><p>“It’s familiar.”</p><p>“Have you ever had short hair?” She asked, trying to picture it.</p><p>“Once.”</p><p>“Show me.” She demanded, pushing her own thoughts back behind a barrier of amusement at the thought of him with cropped hair. His eyes slowly slid open, and she met them, eagerly accepting the memory he was presenting.</p><p>He was twelve, and standing in front of a mirror she recognized as the bathroom in Spinner’s End. His face held revulsion, and his fingers touched the black locks that had been sheared to the same length, barely two inches, all across his head, giving him a layered look. The thickness of his hair made it poof out slightly, and whoever had cut it had clipped the fringe into a straight line above his eyebrows.</p><p>Hermione let out a sharp bark of laughter, and broke from the memory, clamping her mouth shut, and offering Snape an apologetic smile.</p><p>“Sorry, I didn’t mean to laugh.” She apologized, unable to wipe the amused smile completely from her face.</p><p>“Had it not been my own head, I might find it amusing as well.” He forgave her, and stared up, his eyes searching hers.</p><p>“Uh-uh! Eyes closed again.” Hermione ordered, looking away until she was sure he’d complied. When she looked back, his eyes were closed, but his brows were raised in an indication that he wasn’t obeying easily.</p><p>“Good.” She praised, and sifted her fingers through his hair gently, as though rewarding a pet for doing a trick. He said nothing, but his brows inched higher. She looked him over, letting her fingertips twine in and out of his hair as she stared down at his muscles encased in black cotton. She refused to pull his shirt up and inspect the area she’d been spying on earlier. Instead, she let her hands drop to his shoulders, and felt her way delicately down to his forearms, sitting back to rest her legs as she went. She lifted one wrist, and held his hand up, investigating the slim fingers that had turned his pages, and the well-kept nails. His hands were a good shape, matching her earlier decision of ‘elegant’. They were the kind of fingers one might see dancing over piano keys, long, and much bigger than her own. She pressed her own palm to his for a comparison, lining their fingers up, pleased that he silently stretched his own digits out willingly for her to play with.</p><p>Her fingertips came to barely the second joint of his own fingers, and his palm was a good two centimeters wider. His wrist was fairly slim, and she traced the joint that protruded from the sleeve of his shirt, feeling the thick prickle of his arm hair against her fingertips. She circled her fingers around his wrist, and pushed his sleeve up, not daring to look and see if he was peeking. If he was, he would be able to see her fascination as she skimmed her fingers through the black hair on his forearm, and the horror as she turned his wrist over, and realized it was his left. The Dark Mark glared up at her, and she froze, her eyes locked on it, suddenly worried that if she so much as breathed on it wrong, it would summon the evil who’d put it there.</p><p>She noticed that his hand had balled into a fist, and swallowed, forcing her words out.</p><p>“Is it safe to touch?” She asked, barely breathing the words.</p><p>“With anything but a wand.” He replied shortly, and she glanced up, in case he was peeking. He wasn’t, and she could see no emotions betrayed on his face. She looked back to the black image on his arm, wetting her lips nervously, as her fingers slithered closer to the tail of the snake. He didn’t seem to be breathing, and she realized she was holding her own breath, her fingers hovering just on the edge of the Mark, hesitating.</p><p>“Does it hurt to touch?” She asked, looking back at his blank face, watching his lips move in a nearly inaudible ‘no’.</p><p>Her eyes fell back to the tattoo, and she brushed her fingers over it with a quick motion, bracing herself for the worst.</p><p>Nothing happened, and she let out a soft sigh, skimming her fingers more slowly over it, feeling the smoothness, searching it for any hidden ridges. It was completely flat, but slightly cool to the touch, and she caressed it again, pressing her fingers more firmly into the blackness, feeling the patches of warm pale skin between the lines of cool ink.</p><p>“It’s cold.” She observed aloud, hoping for an explanation.</p><p>“It’s the magic. It leeches my body heat where it touches, to feed on.”</p><p>“It feeds on you?” She asked, suddenly horrified. His eyes opened, and met hers, his right hand moving to cover the mark, hiding it from view.</p><p>“Yes. And it’s tied to the Dark Lord, so it’s impossible to remove. It won’t eat you.” His voice was lighter, teasing. Hermione offered a small smile, and pried his fingers off, looking back at the black mark.</p><p>“If you touch it with your wand, will he know you’re alive?” She asked, holding his fingers trapped in one hand, and touching the mark again, inspecting the chill in it once more.</p><p>“Not by the touch alone. He’s unable to discern the difference of who’s summoned him, but it would bring him right through our wards, and he would see I was alive.”</p><p>“Do you wear long sleeves to keep it covered, or because you like them?” She asked, wondering if the black covering him from neck to ankles was really a preference, or a comfort.</p><p>“Both. If we’re stuck camping through to August, I may deign to roll them up, though.” He admitted his humanity easily, and she grinned, thinking back to her school years. He never would have admitted that anything made him uncomfortable, even if he were baking in four layers of black under a summer sun, with a warming curse placed on him.</p><p>“Why not just wear short sleeves?” She bantered, unable to properly imagine him in something so breezy. Even his cotton sleep shirt was form-hugging, and seemed like one of the least relaxed pajamas he could have worn.</p><p>“Short sleeves offer no protection. By rolling my sleeves up instead, I can easily roll them back down, too.” He demonstrated, quickly yanking the fabric over the Dark Mark, hiding it from view.</p><p>“Oh.” Hermione nodded, and pulled her hands away, fighting the urge to push his sleeve back up. The Mark stood for everything that was against Muggleborns, and she felt like staring it down until it held no power over her.</p><p>“It’s getting late, perhaps we should turn in?” He offered, and she nodded dumbly, keeping her eyes lowered as she scooted back to her roll, and lied down, keeping her eyes from him as she tucked herself into bed.</p><p>He kept his own peace, and flicked the lamp off, rustling into his own pile of covers.</p><p>“Goodnight.” she whispered through the dark, feeling strange offering the platitude to him.</p><p>“Sleep well.” His deep voice replied, making her acutely aware of how very small the tent was. She was suddenly on pins and needles again, her relaxed legs and shoulders having nothing to do with her inability to sleep. Her eyes were wide open, and her lungs couldn’t seem to decide if they wanted to hold her breath, or hyperventilate. She could hear the soft stirring as he shifted, a brief, spartan movement.</p><p>She forced her eyes closed, and was greeted with the image of his pale hip revealed by a simple movement, the lines of his hands, the curve of his shoulders as he relaxed under her stare. She rolled to her stomach, her thighs clenching together as she tried to fight off the images of Snape’s hand around a girl’s throat, the pleasure he’d taken in ramming into her. She could almost still feel the quaking bliss of his orgasm, and her center was burning red-hot in seconds. She wanted to bury her face into his chest, and let him rock her into oblivion, just like he’d done for that other woman.</p><p>She held back a whimper of despair, and pressed a hand into her shorts, trying to relieve the tension that seemed to ratchet higher with every silent moment she spent dying slowly of her own fiery lust. She rubbed gently, her face an inferno of shame as she realized what she was doing, not four feet from the cause.</p><p>“If I’m forced to tie you to a tree to get some sleep, I will.” His voice was mildly peeved, and she swallowed forcefully, stilling her hand, not wanting to be caught in the act of something so humiliating. He was silent a few moments, and the silence pounded at her ears, relieved only by his breathing. Her lungs were burning, and she let her breath go, her hips moving slightly against her palm, her fingertips against her heated crotch making her freeze again.</p><p>“For the love of Merlin… Don’t suffocate yourself, it’s not your breathing that keeps me awake.” He muttered as she gasped in another quiet lungful of air. Her face flushed hotter, and his rich, warm voice filling the tent just made her tension even worse. She forced herself to keep breathing, slow, ragged breaths in and out, her teeth worrying at her bottom lip as she squeezed her eyes closed, and tried to pull her hand away ever so quietly. The sleeping bag rustled damningly, and she winced, making the motion quick, getting it over with. Both hands tucked under her pillow, curled on her side, she faced the wall. Her thighs rubbed together, providing herself with any small modicum of stimulation she could, desperate to ease the swelling discomfort of her nethers. The dark was like a poison, or perhaps an aphrodisiac, making her suddenly unable to think about anything other than her proximity to him, the memories of his pleasure, the experience of looking at him, touching him.</p><p>A deep, long sigh sounded from behind her, and she froze, realizing the rustling her thighs had been making a moment too late.</p><p>“Sorry.” She muttered, and held herself rigidly still, forcing her thoughts to focus on the sounds around her, trying to clear her mind. She should be exhausted, it was well past midnight, but her body seemed tireless as her mind focused on the soft rustling of sheets behind her.</p><p>“Do I need to massage every muscle in your body to get you  to sleep?” His voice was quiet and provocative, making her think about just that.</p><p>“No, I’m not in pain.” She croaked, desperately willing herself to sleep.</p><p>“Then stop moving.” His tone was instantly grouchy, and she grimaced, wondering just how quickly he was able to fall asleep. Would she be able to relieve some portion of her discomfort after he drifted off? She counted slowly to one hundred, and shifted to her back, testing to see if he’d snap at her again. There was silence but for his breathing. She hesitantly slid her hand down her front, and pressed her fingers gently into the pulse between her legs. She was hot, and she gave an experimental swirl of her fingers, noting how strangely the fabric slid around. She was absolutely soaked, and as her fingers pressed into the thin cotton, she could feel the damp seeping through her clothes. She grimaced, and lifted her hand slightly, wondering if it would be worse to continue, or worse to stop. The thumping discomfort that took back over made up her mind, and she slipped her fingers into her shorts, separating the pink from most of the wetness, hoping to salvage some portion of her dignity. Her fingers slid over the wetness that saturated the crotch of her knickers, and she rubbed slightly, ignoring the slight rustle of the sheets, hoping to get close, just once, remembering how much easier the need had been to ignore after the hot flashes of unbearable pleasure.</p><p>A soft noise of movement from Snape paused her fingers, and she waited to a count of ten before deciding he’d rolled over in his sleep, and continuing. Her breathing was quick, shallow, and harsh, her tongue darting across her lips with nervousness, and arousal. Her hips were tilting slowly, against her will, shifting the sheets noisily underneath her, though the slow circles of her hand barely disturbed her covers.</p><p>The pressure built, higher and higher, and an electric feeling shot through her, making her hips twitch, and her fingers slip away, stopping the pleasure before she truly crested. Hermione dropped her hand, and groaned, realizing that as she’d gotten closer, she’d hoped that she might be able to actually complete her task after all. She glared through the darkness at where she imagined Snape lay hidden in all his black, and muttered a low curse, hating him for his easy sleep.</p><p>“It’d be much easier to sleep if you’d keep it down.” His voice shot back, and she felt her face flush as she gasped in surprise.</p><p>“You’re awake!?” She was horrified, and sat up, staring in his direction as she considered running from the tent, as far as she could get. She heard the rustle of him sitting up as well, and saw the pale outline of his face in the blackness of the tent.</p><p>“Unless this is some cruel dream, yes.” He said dryly, and she glared.</p><p>“Well don’t worry, I’m going to sleep now!” She said, feeling like a wooden figure in some poorly scripted game of make-believe. She flopped onto her back, and heard the sigh that escaped his lips.</p><p>“Will you let me help you?” His voice was a whisper, but seemed to expand into every crevice of the room, making her flush as she thought of his hands rubbing her.</p><p>“I don’t need help falling asleep.” She shot over at him, putting as much acid into her tone as she could.</p><p>“Clearly you do, or we’d both be unconscious by now.” His tone returned her venom, and she felt her pride sting at his words. She didn’t need another reminder that she was unable to satisfy herself.</p><p>“How <i>exactly </i>will you help me sleep? A nice big club over my head?” She snarked, crossing her arms over her chest, feeling bitter in the wake of her failed orgasm, and willing to lash out at him if he was so eager to argue.</p><p>“I don’t have to beat you over the head to knock you out. I could just finish what you started.” His voice was like honey: sweet, tempting, but with all the horror of a hive of bees coming for her. He knew.</p><p>She wished desperately for a black hole to open up and swallow her whole, but none appeared, leaving her to the mercy of a much-too perceptive man.</p><p>“I wasn’t doing anything!” She denied, hearing the falseness of her own voice, and cringed.</p><p>“Mmhm, and would you like <i>me </i>to do ‘nothing’ to you, as well?” He said, his verbal quotations on ‘nothing’ emphasizing his innuendo.</p><p>“I doubt you’d be any better at it!” She snapped, feeling her uncooled blood pound through her, making her want to embarrass him as much as he had done to her simply by hearing. There was a brief rustle of movement, and suddenly, he was leaning over her, his face just visible, surrounded by inky blackness.</p><p>“Are you willing to bet money on that, Miss Granger?” His voice was a heavenly mixture of sweet and sin, promising her that he’d win any bet she lay down, and promising too, that by the time he’d won, she wouldn’t care about the score.</p><p>“N-no.” She stammered, shrinking back into her pillow, unnerved by how he looked looming in the darkness, his lips twisted in an evil smile.</p><p>“You’re not? Pity.” His voice was angelic, his head tilted toward her, his hair tickling her face as he leaned down to whisper in her ear. “I would’ve <i>loved </i>watching you eat your words.” The way he said it made it seem as though he’d found a way to take even the most innocuous sentence and turn it into a double entendre. She had no idea what ‘eat your words’ might otherwise represent, but the imagery of his mouth, biting at a pale thigh was nearly too much. She gasped in a breath, and forced more words out.</p><p>“There will be no eating, of anything.” She argued, pushing the thought of him licking his way across her skin away.</p><p>“Nothing? Not even a nibble?” He teased, his lips caressing her ear as he spoke, sending a jolt of lightning through her. She jerked away, uncrossing her arms to place her hands on his chest. A chest that was much closer than she’d thought, only a few centimeters from her own. She could see his face above hers again, his black eyes staring down at her through the darkness, seeming to burn with a fire of their own.</p><p>“Not even… the smallest… taste?” He practically purred, his face right above hers, his lips close enough to kiss if she leaned up just a little. Her breath was unwilling to cooperate enough for her to form words, and she felt tongue-tied, her heart pounding harder than ever, as he pushed the last inch forward, and kissed her.</p><p>Her hands slid up his chest, and into his hair, holding him in place as his lips gently touched hers, the lightness of the touch threatening to end any moment. She’d meant to push his head away, but her fingers tangled in the black silk of his hair, and she pulled him closer, her back arching slightly as she pressed her lips greedily into his. He kissed back earnestly, capturing her lips with his, his hand warm on her hip and trailing heat to her ribs.</p><p>His teeth captured her bottom lip, and she clutched him tighter to her, desperate for more of him. His fingers were pushing her shirt up, touching her bare stomach, and revealing the very underside of her bra. She felt like his fingertips were leaving trails of electrical fire in their wake, causing her to arch up into him further, whimpering slightly with need.</p><p>“Please…” his voice was a gravelly growl as his fingers slid to her bare hip, and trailed along the top edge of her shorts. “Let me do this for you.”</p><p>Several things skimmed through her head; a sarcastic comment that it was really ‘for her’, the familiar fear of a painful, unromantic first time, his earlier promise not to deflower her- yet, and the rarity of him actually saying ‘please’. His fingers felt like a curse, muddling her sanity, and making her want to agree to anything he suggested, regardless of the consequences.</p><p>“Look at me.” She panted, holding his face, and staring at his dark eyes, barely able to make them out. But it was enough. She felt the heated red waves that filled him, the glittering yellow of the feel of her underneath him, kissing him back. She could feel the shaking restraint of his arms as he smoothed his fingers over her stomach, keeping the sexual violence in him pushed far back, where it couldn’t escape and frighten her. He wanted to give her what she needed, but knew she’d be too scared if he presented her with the entirety of what he could make her feel. So he focused on what he knew she would appreciate: her first orgasm, unhindered by her own inexperience, and the darkness surrounding them to keep her from feeling humiliation.</p><p>“Can you see my thoughts?” He asked, his head cocked slightly to the side, his voice slightly amused.</p><p>“Yes.” She panted back, reading his amazement in his thoughts, for a split second, before he descended, kissing her again. His lips were quick, and she could feel his smile as he muttered between kisses.</p><p>“You have… no idea… how powerful… you are…” His voice was broken by his lips trailing kisses from her mouth to her neck. She gasped and curled against him as his lips  touched the sensitive skin over her pulse, a mixture of tickling and enjoyment as his nose trailed downward, and he lifted his head again.</p><p>“You… can’t?” She finally managed to gasp the question, prying her eyes back open to meet his. His thoughts were right there, easy as ever for her to read.</p><p>“No.” He answered, squinting down at her, trying, but she could see plainly that he got nothing except the outline of her face, her hair curling across her pillow. He was proud, the rushing emotion filling her with a sense of accomplishment. She could do something he was completely incapable of.</p><p>His pride was buffeted away like driftwood on a sea, the sensation of her soft skin under his fingers completely distracting him from her success. She felt his fingers slip a tiny bit under her waistband, trailing across her abdomen with a teasing, begging thought.</p><p>“You’d do anything to sleep, wouldn’t you?” She teased trying to alleviate her nerves, and felt the chuckle that rumbled through his chest.</p><p>“Absolutely anything.” He agreed easily, his thoughts flashing a flirtatious fuschia before settling back to the heated red passion as he swept her into another searing kiss. Her thoughts scattered again, and her fingers tightened in his hair once more, silently showing her enjoyment of the kiss. Pleasure shot through her, and she groaned aloud, before she realized the cause. He’d settled between her hips again, and had pressed the hardness of his own arousal into her, rubbing in a tantalizing, and gratifying way. Hermione felt her face flush in the dark, and gripped his shoulders tightly, torn between the heat of the pleasure, and the embarrassment of having this man on top of her, rutting against her in a clothed imitation of lovemaking.</p><p>“If you’re so sure of yourself, then… You’ll have no problem if we keep our clothes on?” She panted, trying to find a balance between her lust and worry. His thoughts were a swirling haze of emotions and sensations, all his own as he stared through the dark into her eyes.</p><p>“None at all.” He purred, his fuschia flirtatiousness darkening into a seductive velvet feeling. “Are my hands restricted to the same, or may they delve beneath a single layer?”</p><p>He punctuated the question with a soft caress across her bare stomach, sending shivers up her spine, and encouraging her to let him have his way.</p><p>“One layer.” She agreed, finding his teasing thoughts nearly as easy to read as his voice. He was sure he wouldn’t <i>need </i>to get under them, but he definitely believed she’d enjoy it more if he could. His hands slid swiftly to her ribcage, and he kneaded softly down her sides, massaging toward her hips as he took her mouth once more. She fought back another groan as he ground his hips into hers, causing her back to arch, and her arms to wrap around his neck.</p><p>She closed her eyes, kissing him back trying not to think about anything other than how wonderful his hands felt on her, how good he was at kissing. Even with his hands wandering lower, and his hips rocking against hers, his lips didn’t falter once. His tongue was sure and gentle as it slid past her own, setting a slow pace for her to respond to. She hardly noticed when his hand slid between her legs, and continued the stimulation his hips had been providing. The only indicator that something had changed was a slight shuffle of his sweats against her thighs, and an instant increase in the pleasure as he focused the circling of his fingers directly where she needed them. Her hips tilted involuntarily, but his hand stayed attached, forcing the feelings to continue through her body’s treacherous attempts to keep her from finishing.</p><p>She broke her lips from his, biting her lower one in an attempt to keep quiet, but his mouth descended on her neck, ruining any chance she had of maintaining her dignity. His soft warm lips trailed down from her ear, and she practically squirmed underneath him, her throat catching on her moans, her nails digging into the fabric of his thin black shirt. Her head fell further to the side, offering him more of her throat to nuzzle, and he made his way slowly across what felt like every single inch of exposed skin. The pleasure from his fingers faltered briefly, and she felt his knuckles skimming her bare skin as he slid his hand beneath her shorts, the thin layer of cotton that now separated his skin from hers might not have been there at all, for she could feel the shape of his fingertips against her, the difference between one digit pleasuring her, and two, the heat of his palm cupping her while his fingers worked.</p><p>Her toes curled as he pressed harder, and the same lightning sensation came over her, jerking her hips suddenly away from him. To her astonishment, his hand stayed in place, following her hips as though it were glued, forcing the electrifying pleasure to continue beyond the single jolt, making her keen in a high-pitched voice as the feelings overwhelmed her, nearly too much to bear, her pelvis pushing the other direction, and her legs wrapped firmly around his thighs to anchor herself as he tortured her.</p><p>She almost couldn’t feel his mouth on her neck through the pleasure he was providing, but a slight tingle kept her attention pulled taut between the two areas he touched, and as his nose slid across her skin, and the soft feeling repeated, she realized belatedly that he was using his teeth, pulling gently at the skin of her neck, as if he knew simple kisses weren’t making it through her electrified skin.</p><p>She couldn’t hold her voice in at all as moan after moan filled the tent,  her body writhed beneath his ministrations, and the heat filling her reached an inferno. Just as quickly as the feeling had overtaken her, it became too much, the feather light touches of his fingers felt like pure fire, and she pushed vigorously at him, gasping in air to verbalize her needs.</p><p>“Stop! Stop…” She managed to yelp, just as he withdrew his hand, his lips pressing once more to her throat before those, too, were removed. Hermione lied completely still, panting, and feeling rather as though she’d just been turned to mush. Her every muscle felt like jelly, and her heart was beating as though she’d just run a marathon. She lay in silence a moment, eyes closed, trying to catch her breath, but she could feel the gentle weight of him still kneeling over her, waiting for her to open her eyes.</p><p>She finally managed to pry her eyelids apart, and stared up at the darkness that surrounded his pale face. Her eyes had adjusted just enough that she could make out the difference between his hair, and the top of the tent, the way it fell around his face as he leaned over her made her want to grab it. So she did.</p><p>She reached her shaking arms out and pulled his face to hers, not caring if her kiss was inexperienced, unpolished. He was kissing her back, one hand on her hip as he pressed his pelvis down into hers, revealing just how much he appreciated helping her. He was sporting a rock hard erection, and Hermione slowly slid her hand down, feeling emboldened by her satisfaction, and incredibly curious.</p><p>The cotton of his sweats was soft against her fingers, but underneath, he felt hard as steel, and astonishingly warm.</p><p>He groaned, pushing his hips into her hand for a brief moment, and then pulled back completely, so that all she was touching was his hair with one hand.</p><p>“You know you’re playing with fire, don’t you?” He groaned, looking down at her with no small measure of desire.</p><p>“What if I like fire?” Hermione heard herself say coyly, emboldened by the dark, by the warmth of his skin, and the heat she found in his thoughts.</p><p>“Then I’d suggest you get some sleep, before you burn yourself.” He retorted, drawing one warm finger down her bare thigh, and moved back to his side of the tent. Hermione grinned up at the dark ceiling, her heart thumping madly as she closed her eyes, and got comfortable. Even if she egged him on, it seemed Severus Snape would honor the lines she drew. She could trust him. With everything.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0013"><h2>13. Home</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Hermione let her footfalls thump heavily against the grass, feeling the sun beat down on her back, her limbs feeling heavy from the heat and walking. Despite the late night, Snape had woken her up at the same early hour, packed up camp, and led the way across Wales. Hermione was starting to seriously question whether walking around, trying to find an abandoned house to appropriate was really the best idea. There HAD to be some better way to choose a hideout. </p><p>“Professor, can we rest for a minute?” She huffed, wiping the back of her neck, and glaring balefully up at the clear blue sky. It had promised rain that morning, and the clouds had cleared away by midday, leaving them under the sun, which wasn’t bad in the shade, but right overhead, after a few hours of walking, felt like she was being cooked.</p><p>“We can rest as soon as we reach those trees. No need to stay out in the open.” He ordered, tirelessly marching forward. Hermione groaned, but kept after him, staring at her feet as she went, grumbling.</p><p>“Granger.” </p><p>She looked up, noting his terse tone, and looked ahead at him, scanning the area for danger. He was staring straight ahead, at nothing.</p><p>“What is it, Professor? Did you see something?” She crept close to him, still scanning the edges of the field. </p><p>“That house…”He pointed where he was staring, and Hermione looked from him, confused, to the empty field. </p><p>“I don’t-” Her words cut off as she stepped up next to him, the tingle of magic humming across her skin, just as a house loomed suddenly ahead. “It’s warded.” She guessed, looking around them once more. There was also a shed, just a few meters to their left, and she looked over at Snape, worried.</p><p>“It’s likely a wizard’s house. We should go back, before we’re seen.” He suggested, his hand gripping her arm, his tight hold making her worry even more. He was nervous, the large house ahead of them held his attention, but before he could take a step back, the door of the shed opened, and they had a wand pointed at them. Hermione drew her own, but in a flash, it was pulled from her fingers, and landed on the ground between them and the man who had appeared.</p><p>“What’s your business here?” The stranger asked, his hand steady as he aimed his wand now at Snape, who held his arm out, keeping Hermione mostly behind his own body. She peeked around his shoulder, taking in the grey-haired man, the tattered wizard’s robes he wore, the defensive gleam in his eyes.</p><p>“We have no business here. We were simply hiking, and came upon your home. We were just about to leave.” Snape answered tersely, never taking his eyes off of the man.</p><p>“Came upon me by accident? I don’t believe that, not for one second. Why don’t you tell me what your master wants, Death Eater?” The man sounded nasty, his head tilting higher, his eyes flashing to Snape’s left arm. Hermione glanced down, and saw what the man did. Snape’s sleeves were rolled up, and the Dark Mark was just visible before he tucked it into his side, hiding it from view.</p><p>“You’re… You’re hiding from You-Know-Who?” Hermione asked from behind Snape,  trying to ignore the fluttery feeling in her chest as he stepped sideways with her, keeping himself between her and the wand. She knew he’d chalk the protectiveness up to his life-debt, but something told her it was more than that, he just didn’t want her to get hurt.</p><p>“None of your business, girly. Aren’t you supposed to be a wanted criminal, anyway? What’d they Imperius you?” He asked, his piercing gaze catching enough of her face and hair to discern her identity. Hermione glanced up at Snape, then back at the man.</p><p>“Tell him you’re not with Volde-”</p><p>“Shh!” Snape nearly hissed, flinching at the name, and glaring at her. “Don’t say it! Have you forgotten it’s been made Taboo?”</p><p>“Sorry! But tell him! Before he curses you!” She insisted, glancing nervously to the narrowing eyes of the older man.</p><p>“What’re you whispering about?” He snapped, lifting his wand just a little higher.</p><p>“Tell him!” Hermione urged.</p><p>“He’s not going to believe me.” Snape muttered.</p><p>“Fine.” She ducked from under his arm and held her hands out in a placating gesture, dancing out of reach of Snape’s hand as he tried to yank her back. “I’m Hermione Granger. I’m not Imperiused. This is Severus Snape. You-Know-Who thinks he’s dead, because he tried to kill him. I saved his life, and he owes me a life debt. We’ve been searching for a place to hide, so we can try to reform the Order of the Phoenix.”</p><p>“Shut up!” Snape hissed angrily, stepping right up behind her, and grabbing her arm.</p><p>“Expect me to believe that, do you?” His eyes flashed between them, doubt and curiosity evident.</p><p>“No. But if there’s some way we can prove it…” Hermione trailed off, and glanced up at Snape. His eyes were harder than stone, and locked on the unfamiliar wizard. He clearly didn’t trust the man, and the man clearly didn’t trust Snape, but as his eyes came back to hers, his face softened the tiniest bit.</p><p>“I’d believe you if you made an Unbreakable Vow.” The man finally said. She felt her heart thumping in her chest, and looked to Snape, who merely shook his head once, his eyes still on the wand.</p><p>“I’ve never made one before. What would you want me to Vow?” She asked, but the man also shook his head, locked in a staring contest with Snape.</p><p>“Not you, girl. HIM. I’d have him Vow to help defeat You-Know-Who, not to harm those who work against his master, and to never disclose this location to those that would risk the safety of myself, my home, or any I harbor. Vow all of that, and I’ll allow you to share my sanctuary.” The man’s stare was pompous, and expectant. He clearly expected Snape to refuse. Hermione expected it, too.</p><p>“Why would I make such a Vow when I have no proof that you’re truly on our side?” Snape sneered, slowly moving once more between Hermione and the wizard.</p><p>“What other reason could I have for seeking refuge in the countryside, and hiding my home? Our side’s all but demolished, the Dark wizards have no reason to hide anymore. Harry Potter is dead, and He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named is running our world. If I was on his side, I’d be celebrating in Diagon Alley, worshipping at his feet, or torturing muggles without consequence. But you’d know all about that, wouldn’t you?”</p><p>Snape’s mouth was a firm line, and Hermione stared into the man’s eyes as he spoke, focusing as she’d had to focus in the beginning of her lessons, to sift through his chaotic thoughts, sifting through his panic, fear, and hatred of Snape, to see the disgust behind his words. He hated Voldemort, distrusted Snape, and feared for what information they could pull from him. The locations of Muggle-borns that he’d been helping to escape from the country. </p><p>“He’s telling the truth.” Hermione whispered from behind her professor, and their eyes locked, easily sharing their thoughts.</p><p>He was just as distrustful of the man, but could feel her confidence, and sudden conviction of the man’s nature.</p><p>“He helps Muggle-borns get away.” She encouraged, and Snape looked back to the man, his own eyes filtering what he could.</p><p>“Fine. I’ll take your Vow.” he finally gave in, his shoulders relaxing a bit, his face holding a dissatisfied grimace.</p><p>“I’ll officiate. Take her hand.” the man ordered, keeping his wand trained on the dark man. Snape turned to Hermione, sank to his knees, and offered his wand hand. She copied him, feeling nervous as the man approached, close enough to bind the Vow.</p><p>“You’ll ask if I will do as he demanded, I’ll agree, and he’ll seal each layer of the magic.” Snape explained, and she nodded, even though she’d read about how they were performed years before. She nodded, and waited for the man to nod his head that he was ready.</p><p>“Do you vow to help bring about the downfall of- of… Tom Riddle?” Hermione stuttered the first, not sure if saying something so unspecific as ‘You-Know-Who’ would really be binding.</p><p>“I do.” </p><p>“Do you also vow not to bring harm to those that work against him, unless in self-defense?”</p><p>“I do.” He smirked at the loophole she offered, and she felt a wash of relief that she hadn’t had to bind him completely from protecting himself.</p><p>“Do you vow never to disclose this man’s name, location, or business to those that would do him harm?”</p><p>“I do.”</p><p>The three fiery strands of magic that circled their wrists seemed to melt into their skin, and the man stepped back, lowering his wand, and looking at Snape with slightly less mistrust than earlier. </p><p>“So, Hermione Granger, and Severus Snape, welcome to my home. I’m Horatio Shroge, and if you’ll follow me, I’ll give you a quick tour.”</p><p>* * *</p><p>Hermione sat on her bed, staring down at her bare feet, trying to take it all in. They’d gone from wandering the countryside and camping, to taking up residence in a large, comfortable house, having hot showers, and comfy beds to sleep in. The man’s house was surrounded by tall grass, and he had a small garden out back, but all Hermione could seem to think about was Snape. How was he settling in? Was he still upset with her for encouraging the Unbreakable Vow? He’d barely spoken two words to her since taking it, and had quickly disappeared into the large bedroom that had been offered to him by Shroge. The elder wizard, however, seemed more than happy to have the company, despite his earlier suspicion, and had even promised to make dinner. He hadn’t been a terribly good cook, Hermione silently noted, but the food had been better than the canned soup and stale bread that had made up a majority of their meals this past month. Snape hadn’t bothered to speak to her over the dinner table, only answering the questions Shroge put to him with curt replies. She couldn’t tell if he’d been angry with her, or still suspicious of their host, as he’d also refused to meet her eyes. Possibly a mixture of the two, Hermione decided, lying down, and trying her best to fall asleep.</p><p>The silence of the room seemed to fill her ears, oppressive and deafening. In the silence of the countryside, she could hear the battle raging around her. She could hear the horrified screams as Harry was shot down for the final time. She heard the horrible gurgling noises Snape had made as he tried to breathe through his torn throat. She heard the screams of the muggle woman in his memory, the moans of the witch he’d pleased, her own moaning as he’d brought her off. </p><p>She was suddenly more than a little uncomfortable, and pointed her wand at the door, locking and warding it against sounds before she tentatively slid a hand into her jeans, and tried to do for herself what Snape had done just the night before. She closed her eyes as pleasure swept across her, and tried to focus solely on what her goal was. She recalled the overpowering sensations of both her own, and the memory of his orgasm, and pressed her fingers harder into her skin. Her efforts resulted only in making her hips twitch, and her wrist slipped through the waistband of her pants, leaving the molten heat to suffer unsatisfied. </p><p>“Damn it!” She half shouted, glaring at the ceiling. She couldn’t believe that Snape had so easily managed to make her climax, and she could barely even continue touching herself.</p><p>She shimmied out of her jeans, slid her knickers off, and tried again, closing her eyes once more, and swirling her fingers in slow circles over the sensitive flesh. It felt amazing, but somehow, it wasn’t enough. Her mind kept wandering to thoughts of Snape, and her hand would pause, or her hips would jerk away, or her fingers would slip, and miss their mark. She growled, feeling tears prick her eyes with desperation. She just wanted the calming, satisfying release that Snape had given her, so she could sleep, was that too much to ask?</p><p>Apparently it was, as half an hour later, she let her hand fall from herself, and heaved a sigh of frustration, slamming her palms to the mattress, and slipping from the bed, grabbing her shorts from her bag, and donning them before she ventured into the hall. </p><p>She and Snape had been given rooms right across from one another, and at the far end of the hall from Shroge. He’d warned them that his half of the hallway was entirely off limits, and Hermione suspected that he’d set up at least one trap, in case Snape tried to attack him in his sleep. She tiptoed across the carpet and knocked softly at his door, hoping he wasn’t asleep. She could hear movement inside, a grumbling voice, and then the door was yanked open, revealing the scowling face of Severus Snape, glaring down at her.</p><p>“Sorry, I didn’t mean to disturb you.” She muttered, looking from his face to his chest. It was very bare, and his trousers hung low on his hips, the zipper closed, but the top button left undone. It seemed as though she’d interrupted him in the middle of him changing for bed.</p><p>“What is it?” He asked, opening the door wider, glancing down the hallway suspiciously. </p><p>“It’s nothing, really, I just can’t… Sleep.” She grimaced, meeting his eyes, hoping he’d see the truth she was too embarrassed to admit. He stared for a long moment, and she worried that he’d close the door on her, tell her to find her own way of ‘sleeping’. To her relief, he opened the door wider, allowing her enough space to pass through. </p><p>She entered his room, and looked around, comparing it to her own. Different colors, different styles of furniture, but the same articles filled the room. One large bed, a nightstand, a chest of drawers directly across from the bed, and a plush chair removed to the corner near the closet.</p><p>As her eyes scanned the room, she was distracted from noticing just how close behind her Snape had advanced, and when she turned to face him, she ran right into his chest.</p><p>His arms wrapped securely around her, keeping her both on her feet, and pulled against his torso, where she was made very aware of how warm she suddenly was. Or how warm HE was. She couldn’t quite tell the difference, but she knew that SOMETHING was much too warm.</p><p>“Sorry.” She muttered, releasing the fistfulls of his biceps she hadn’t realized she was holding onto. Instead of releasing her in turn, he forced the trapped girl to the bed, and practically tossed her down, falling atop her with careful movements, his coal black eyes boring into hers with such intensity, she nearly had to look away. </p><p>She didn’t realize how defensively she was positioned until he gave her wrist a tug, removing one arm from her chest, his knee forcing its way between her thighs. With one arm trapped, and a very firm leg between her own, she felt exposed and defenseless. Her wand, she remembered, she’d left on her nightstand.</p><p>His thoughts were chaotic, scattered bits of memory mixing with colorful emotions, the familiar yellow of having her underneath him warring with the violent dark red of his anger. He wanted to punish her for making him take the unbreakable vow, but he didn’t want her to hate him. He wanted to give her what she’d come for, but he also wanted to see her fear-filled eyes as she realized just what sort of punishments he’d like to give. Thoughts of hitting her clashed with desires to kiss her, and finally, he gave in. His mouth pressed to hers forcefully, his teeth tugging at her lower lip, his tongue darting out to taste her, as his hands still gripped her too-tightly. The thinly concealed violence inside him was pouring out in his kiss, bruising her lips with his, fingers fisting her hair to pull her head where he wanted, and teeth pinching roughly at the delicate skin of her neck.</p><p>“Professor…” She stammered, the one word a plea for reprieve. He bit her harder, making her hiss in pain, but one hand was pressing into her sex, rubbing hard into the shorts, discouraging her from saying anything else. Her throat constricted with a strange noise she didn’t quite recognize, half moan, half whimper, and with humiliation, she realized that she’d spread her legs wider, tilted her head, and was pressing her body upward, against his. </p><p>“You shouldn’t have sought me out tonight, stupid girl.” He growled into her ear, his cross tone not doing a thing to dampen her lust.</p><p>“I- I know…” She barely made her lips move, the combination of fear and arousal making it more than difficult to speak. His fingers were doing wonders, and even the harsh attentions of his mouth were contributing to her approaching orgasm. Her back bowed, her toes curled, and just as she was about to hit that peak, he pulled away, leaving her feeling agitated and exposed. She clamped her legs together and sat up, looking at him in bewildered frustration, as he leaned his thigh against the foot of the bed, staring down at her with a look of bitter pleasure. </p><p>“Go back to bed.” He ordered, folding his arms across his chest, and glaring down at her. Her head felt like it was spinning as she stared at his stomach, her brain catching up with her mouth a second too late.</p><p>“Please…” She heard herself plead, and her face blazed red as she met his eyes. A swath of bright yellow shot across his mind, followed by a sparkling red, a new feeling, one she didn’t instantly recognize.</p><p>“Hmm. I like that…” He tapped his chin in contemplation, and then smiled wickedly at her, and she had a name for the unfamiliar emotion. “Beg me for it.” </p><p>Spite. He wanted her to humiliate herself out of some petty desire for payback.</p><p>“Please.” She said it again, not sure if she was asking for him to continue touching her, or for him to drop the mean act.</p><p>“Please what?” He teased, his smile in no way kind. She looked away from the swirling emotions behind his eyes, and dropped her gaze to his belly again, her eyes taking in the faint lines of muscle, the dark trail of hair into his pants, the lines of his hips that dove inward, drawing her gaze further downward, to the prominent bulge of his erection, straining to be free. She wetted her lips with her tongue, and forced her lips to move.</p><p>“Touch me.”</p><p>“That’s no way to beg.” He reproved, his voice chillingly smooth, his face devoid of the emotions that were battering her every time she met his gaze. </p><p>“I… I don’t know what you want.” She admitted feeling disoriented and on edge. She knew she should just leave, not play into his stupid games, but god help her, the way his irritation was making her heart race and her mind swim was like a drug. Anyone else, she’d have stormed out on, or chastised, but Snape… She understood him better than she thought she’d understood anyone. He’d always been afraid of being weak. And by forcing him into the unbreakable vow, he felt weak. So in compensation, he became domineering, mean, and vindictive. Though it wasn’t close to the surface, she knew that deep inside him he was just trying to comfort himself. So she stared up at him, beseeching, silently begging him to tell her how she could make up for binding him with magical oaths, for putting herself in danger by trusting Shroge, and for being so indecisive with him.</p><p>“I told you, I want you to beg. Beg me for what you want. You can make a good start by getting on your knees.” His eyes were cold, but the flash of pink through the dark reds and bright yellows brought another new thought. He would enjoy seeing her prostrate herself in more than just a revenge capacity. Just the thought was exciting him, and as she scooted to the edge of the bed, and lowered herself to the ground in front of him, she caught the tiniest of smiles flit across his face, before he had it under control, his elation hidden behind his icy countenance. Except it was rather ruined by her being able to see instantly what was underneath. Almost all of the red had disappeared, and there was only a pulsing swirling mixture of bright sunny yellow, and dark fuschia pulsing in tandem. She dropped her eyes, her pulse pounding with exhilaration at the strange game she’d silently agreed to play. As soon as she couldn’t see his eyes, she was left only with the facade he presented, the cool, domineering professor who wanted her to beg for his touch.</p><p>“Professor, please touch me.” She murmured, her face blazing crimson, but heat pooling in her shorts.</p><p>“I’m not your professor, Granger.” He chided.</p><p>“Severus?” She tried, her voice wavering.</p><p>“Too familiar. Using my given name doesn’t quite convey the respect you should be going for.” He admonished. She blushed darker, and sought for something appropriate to call him.</p><p>“Please, sir?” She tried, her tone more confused than begging.</p><p>“It’ll do. Please what?” He said, tapping his foot slowly in impatience.</p><p>“Please touch me.” She nearly jumped in shock when the feeling of contact met her head, his fingers brushing through her frizzy hair briefly. She waited for more, but after several tense seconds, no other touch came, and she glanced up, to see his eyebrows lifted.</p><p>“That’s not what I meant.” She said, looking back down, embarrassed.</p><p>“Then be more specific.” </p><p>“Please, sir, will you… help me orgasm so I can get to sleep?” She forced the words out in a quick rush, feeling her blush spread to her ears. </p><p>“Yes I will, on one condition.”</p><p>“What’s that?” She couldn’t bring herself to meet his eyes, to see flashes of memory or inspiration. </p><p>“I get to touch you however I want, and the only promises I’ll make are: You’re welcome to leave and ‘take care’ of yourself at any time, and when you do leave, you’ll still be a virgin.”</p><p>“What’s that mean, exactly?” She queried, staring at the bulge of his erection warily. </p><p>“It means take your clothes off.” His voice was commanding and seductive, and she felt a humiliating rush of heat sweep through her. Without meeting his gaze, she pushed herself back to her feet and clutched the bottom hem of her night shirt, her breath coming in short, nervous pants as she built up the courage to bare herself to him. She slowly lifted the shirt over her head, exposing the simple cotton bra she wore, and she held the shirt clutched in her fist for a moment before she let it fall to the floor. As she twisted her arms behind her back to reach the clasp of her bra, she felt her heart stutter in her chest. Was the relief he offered really worth this? Was letting him see her naked some line they shouldn’t cross? Her fingers shook as she released the hooks, and pulled the straps free of her arms, covering her rather small chest with one arm as she dropped the bra on top of her shirt. Then she reached for her shorts, bending slightly as she slid them off, so that by the time she stood, bare, in front of him, her hands were covering her most private areas, giving her some small measure of comfort. Out of her peripheral she couldn’t make heads or tales of his expression, so she looked up, staring into his eyes, even though he wasn’t looking at her face, his eyes were sweeping down her, taking in her bare stomach, uncovered thighs, naked hips, and shielding arms. She could still see somewhat into his mind, sparks of yellow, fuschia, and the familiar wall of occlumency, barring her from seeing deeper without a more powerful effort of the spell. Whatever he was hiding, though, she didn’t have much time to ponder on, as he took the single wide step into her space, and pulled her to him, his lips falling to hers eagerly. His hands rested on her bare waist, and she struggled with herself, not sure whether to keep covering herself, or to place her hands over his for SOME semblance of control. But the truth was, she was totally out of control, standing naked in an older man’s room, begging him to touch her, playing weird mind games, and melting under his touch. She was so far out of control that when his hands moved lower, gripping her bare arse, she pressed herself into him, encouraging more, letting her arms twine around his neck, not bothering to cover herself as the cotton-covered bulge of his own arousal pressed into her belly. She trusted him to keep his word, to not take her innocence, but as he pushed her back to the bed, she felt as though her innocence were already slipping away. Surely one couldn’t lie naked under a man, panting as he kissed his way down her neck, and still call herself innocent? As he took one of her nipples between his lips, she thought that maybe innocence was a sliding scale, and she was quickly falling to zero. His hand was massaging her breast, his tongue swirling, his hair tickling her skin, and when she opened her mouth to express her thoughts, all that came out was a groan of pleasure. His teeth tugged gently at the pink peak, and she looked down, watching him kiss and touch her. He moved to the other side, his teeth and tongue and lips all making her back arch as his fingers took up her other nipple, pinching and pulling and twisting expertly. If she hadn’t been aroused before, she thought this surely would have made her compliant to do whatever he wished. When his lips began travelling lower still, she slid her hands into his hair, both keeping it from blocking his face from her view, and giving her a smidgen of comfort that a single tug would stop his descent. But the closer he got to her sex, the less she wanted to stop him. His kisses slowed, and his hands came down to part her thighs, giving him a full view of her naked, splayed body. Before she could cover herself, his lips were on her thigh, burning their way towards her core, promising the relief she couldn’t give herself, and with her fingers gripping his hair tightly, his lips finally touched the heated center of her arousal, kissing softly, his tongue darting out to taste her, and massage away her tension.</p><p>It was like nothing she’d ever felt, and she nearly liquified into a thoughtless puddle as he pleasured her, his hands under her knees spreading her even wider. She moaned carelessly as his tongue probed about, feeling for the spot that would make her come undone, and when he found it, her fingers nearly pulled his hair out, her back arched, and she let out a wordless cry of enjoyment. He kept at it, slowly teasing her into a frenzy as his hands slid back up her thighs, and as one of his long digits slid along her entrance, she didn’t even mind. He slid the finger slowly into her, and she felt like the world was going to spin her right off its surface.</p><p>She came hard, and as she shook, her body quaking with bliss, he pushed his finger faster into her, prolonging the pleasure until she collapsed, panting and sweaty. She took a moment to catch her breath, her mind fogged with the post-coital haze, and her skin overly sensitive as he kissed his way back up her torso, pausing to suckle on one nipple briefly, before he nuzzled into her neck, and slid into a position beside her, lying next to her comfortably, his fingers still tracing along her bare skin. </p><p>She blinked her eyes open, and looked up at him staring down at her with a light yellow haze across his own thoughts, his expression thoughtful, and intense.</p><p>“What?” She asked, bringing her arms up to cover herself once more, shielding her breasts from his gaze in a rather late attempt to protect her image.</p><p>“I know I’ve done unforgivable things to you, but… I still don’t see why you’d want me to touch you. Am I just the best option until your Weasley boy gets free?” He didn’t seem upset, merely curious, his yellow-tinted thoughts making the bluntness of his words a bit softer.</p><p>“No. I don’t just throw myself at the nearest male, you know.” She couldn’t put the right amount of offense into her tone, so instead tried to do her best to explain. It seemed only fair he get a few answers, after she’d seen so much of him. “I… I don’t know why I want this, but… I’m attracted to you, and I can’t help it. I was scared of it at first, but now… I trust you. I know you’re  not going to hurt me, and even though you like your little power games… I- I… Something happens to me when I’m alone with you. I can’t think straight, and all I can think of is what we’ve already done. What I’ve seen you do, in your memories.” At the renewed thought of his intimacy, she felt her face get hot once more, and her chest tighten with a different kind of want.</p><p>She watched his brow furrow, and focused on his thoughts, pulling his concern straight from his eyes. A dark blue patch of confusion was attached to her words, and she saw her own brown eyes reflected in his, the frustration of not being able to properly discern what she meant, or what that feeling of want that he’d picked up on had been.</p><p>“You… you can use the spell, if you’d like.” She offered, her heart hammering as she offered him the simplest understanding she could.</p><p>She could almost hear the spell that whispered through his thoughts, carrying power and intent, despite the lack of wand. She experienced her own mind in snippets through his, her own butter colored contentment, a magenta that warred with that contentment, demanding something more. A flash of heat as he felt around, seeing her enjoyment when he’d had her pressed against the bed, the counter, the tree… And her fascination as she’d studied his face, her appreciation of his pale skin, exposed by his reading position, his slim hips and well-shaped torso. She saw his confusion at how she saw him, and the clashing self-image he tried to repress made her nearly giggle with the absurdity. Lank black hair, skinny legs, crooked teeth, beaky nose, and a cowardly hunch to his shoulders were what he saw in himself. He was confident in his skills, but not at all in his looks, and he couldn’t even fathom how she could find him, who was old and ugly, even the slightest bit attractive. In the other women, they’d cared less about his looks, and more about the unusual pleasures they shared. But Hermione, she wasn’t interested in that sort of… But she was. He could see it right there, a spark of interest, a dark curiosity followed by shame that she felt it, that he’d seen.</p><p>“You have nothing to be ashamed of.” His thoughts were smooth, but had a harsh follow up. “I’m the one slowly stealing your innocence.”</p><p>She reached up to touch his face without thinking, trying to comfort him from the wash of guilt he felt over debauching her, despite the sick pleasure he got from doing so. She pushed a thought towards him, briefly pushing everything else behind a wall, making certain he caught that one sentence.</p><p>
  <i>“We both enjoy it, so don’t feel like you’re to blame.” </i>
</p><p>His lips quirked at the corner, and she knew he’d gotten the message, so she released the rest of her thoughts, letting him continue his perusal to understand what she couldn’t explain. He began sifting quickly through emotions, thoughts, memories, searching for… Ron. There he was. Her childhood love. The boy she’d felt so guilty over at first. She did still love him. She always would, just as Severus would always love Lily. But there was no guarantee that he was even still alive, that they’d actually be able to rescue him before he went mad. Severus wasn’t just the best option for now. She wanted him to touch her, she enjoyed kissing him, and if she had to choose between living in the moment and pining for a boy she may never see again… She was going to enjoy this, here and now, and if Ron still wanted her after everything, after she’d done these things, after he’d lost his mind, they could figure out how to approach that when it came time. But each week that passed, she felt less desire to be with Ron. As a teen, she’d fantasised about kissing him, about him being her first. Well, for a brief time, she thought about maybe staying with Viktor, but… He’d just been a tool, really, to make Ron jealous. Now, when she thought of being kissed, touched, of making love, she saw black hair, black eyes, a sly smirk, and a piercing gaze. Instead of turning over what color of sexy lingerie she might wear, she fantasized she wore only skin. Instead of contemplating the pain she might have, she found herself wondering about the different pleasures Snape might offer. He was dragging her down to his level, yes, and she was enjoying every single second of it. She’d never felt the fire he created in her before, she’d never wondered what it felt like to be unable to breathe as she reached that amazing climax, and she’d never thought she’d prance into Severus Snape’s room, wearing no panties, and begging him to get her off. </p><p>Snape’s mind turned dark again at that thought, and for a moment, she worried, until the lightning strike of lust lit it up again, his pulsing desire returning tenfold at her thoughts, his fingers gripping her skin a little tighter, his tongue darting out to lick his lips as he stared down at her, wanting.</p><p>“You should go to bed, before I break my promise, and ravage you.” He growled, pressing his hips into the side of hers, displaying just how he meant to corrupt her. He saw the flash of fear, and of desire that went through her, the hesitation to run away, and  finally, the bold thought that flitted through her as she felt the rock hard shaft pressing into her. She wanted to touch it. And afterall, he’d been so eager to please her, why shouldn’t she return the favor? All she had to do was reach down…</p><p>She let her fingers trail from where she’d been touching his face, down his neck, along the lines of his chest, past his navel, and followed the narrow path of hair to his trousers. His mind was swirling gold, fuschia, and crimson, sparks of pleasure lighting up as her fingers touched him, as her fingertips trailed across the cotton covered arousal, testing him, feeling him. He wasn’t going to stop her, but he couldn’t bring himself to encourage her either, his mind too chaotic to form words. But she didn’t need his words. She could see directly into what he wanted. And he wanted this more than he wanted to kiss her. </p><p>It was harder than she’d expected, and she pressed her palm fully against him, rubbing slightly, watching his face and thoughts as she touched him, reveling in the strange power she seemed to wield just then. He seemed enthralled, his hips tilting, silently encouraging her on, his mind whirling away with chaos and pleasure. He was enjoying this immensely, and craved skin-on-skin contact. She grinned abashedly to herself as her fingers found the zipper of his trousers, and slowly tugged it down, the noise of his pants opening making her mind and heart race with renewed arousal. She pulled the separate halves apart, and glanced down, taking in a brief look of his sex. It was pink, darker near the tip, and curved slightly toward his belly. She had no idea if the size was normal or not, but as she took it in her hand, her fingers barely closed over it.</p><p>“Not average.” His answer to her unasked question made her blush all over again, and she shot him another quick query, which he dutifully answered. “Average is about a hand full for most women. Your hands are rather small, so I’ll probably be more than two for you.”</p><p>Out of curiosity, she sat straight up, and placed both her hands around the shaft, one touching the base, and the other touching the top. There was indeed a gap between her hands. The thought of losing her virginity to THAT suddenly made her fear come back full-force, and she didn’t dare meet his eyes.</p><p>“Don’t be afraid of it, it doesn’t bite.” He teased, his own fingers brushing her thigh comfortably. She flushed darker, and turned her back so he couldn’t see her nudity in profile. He was so comfortable being exposed, and she still felt like she stood in front of the class with no clothes.</p><p>She moved her hands, testing the feel of it, the stiffness, the softness of the skin that covered it. It was velvety smooth, and moved only from the base, the rigid shaft refusing to give. She brushed her fingers over the bell-shaped head, feeling the ridge of it’s edge, the slightly more cushioned feeling that wasn’t as stiff as the shaft. Her fingers trailed further down, and she brushed the black curls that the whole thing rested in. Her fingertips traced over one of his testicles, and she looked up at him, curiosity taking hold.</p><p>“Is it naturally like this, or do you…erm…”</p><p>“I keep myself groomed.” He answered with a shrug, and she felt her face blaze, feeling suddenly embarrassed about her own state of affairs. What with being on the run, she hadn’t really had time to keep up with her usual hygiene routine. “Don’t worry, it doesn’t bother me.” He answered her thoughts easily with another nonchalant shrug. “I’m too old to be squeamish over a bit of hair.” </p><p>A nervous giggle burst out of her mouth, and she felt her cheeks blaze once more. She couldn’t help but wonder how he preferred it, though. He smirked back, and answered once more.</p><p>“The way you normally wear it is my preference.” He said, his eyes piercing, his thoughts returning the image she’d just had of her own normal grooming. She felt a flush of embarrassment and looked away, unable to meet his eyes when she knew that he knew that she liked to keep herself bare. It was a recent muggle trend, and she’d been teased for it in the bath at Hogwarts more than once. She distracted herself from the thought of him seeing her totally bare by focusing once more on his manhood, jerking her hands slightly in an imitation of sex. She was rewarded with a groan, and his hips pressing upward into her motions, and she smiled to herself, pleased with his reaction. She kept moving her hands, faster, squeezing harder, then slowing, barely brushing his skin with her fingertips, watching his body move with the pleasure, with her teasing touches. She glanced back to his face, hoping to read his thoughts without getting into another embarrassing dialogue, and was surprised when she saw his eyes locked on hers, his teeth worrying his lower lip, his thoughts a haze of pleasure that nearly obscured the desire he was trying to quell. He was thinking about her lips, soft and pink, her warm mouth, her wet tongue. She looked back to his erection with intrigue, wondering what it might feel like against her lips, what it might taste like. She lowered her head swiftly, not daring to hesitate, lest she become a coward, and pressed her lips against the underside of his head, kissing gently down, and back up, glancing up at him for approval before she enveloped the entire head with her mouth, pulling it out past her lips slowly, and licking a circle around it. He seemed to enjoy it more than he could articulate, as his thoughts were a muddle of wordless pleasure and desire for more. She wrapped her lips eagerly back around him, glad that his skin didn’t taste foul, that instead it tasted faintly of salt and musk, a strange heady flavor that filled her mind, and egged her on. She took more of him into her mouth, until his head hit the back of her throat, and she gagged, pulling away instantly. He moaned some wordless animation, and she tried again, bobbing her head slowly just above where she’d gagged last time. His hips bucked slightly, and she could see his fist balling in the comforter, his chest rising and falling with quick pants of breaths, and she thought he must be close. She moved her hand up and down near the base of him as she bobbed her head, hoping to bring him to the same indescribable peak he’d helped her find.</p><p>His cock throbbed in her mouth, and she was shocked as a new strange flavor, and hot strand of liquid covered her tongue. She pulled away, not quite fast enough, and got another on her cheek, making her retreat further as she squeezed his shaft in her hand, and watched the rest of his orgasm pool on his stomach, his cock throbbing in time with the release of each new line of his seed. She reflexively swallowed what was in her mouth, and smacked her lips, testing the flavor, trying to decide if it was as bad as she’d expected or not. She’d heard the whispered conversations of muggle girls, of Lavender and Parvati. She knew that it could taste like what they’d eaten, or somehow taste incredibly sour and bitter. It was mostly just salty, a bit bitter, but not overpoweringly so, and left her tongue feeling strangely tingly.</p><p>She looked up at his face, seeing his eyes closed, his mouth parted to let air in and out. He looked satisfied, and she smiled smugly to herself, pleased that she’d managed to at least get SOMEONE to orgasm, since her own body was a traitor. She lifted her fingers to wipe the line from her cheek, and nearly jumped a foot in the air when his hand shot out to grab her wrist. He sat up swiftly, and leaned in, bringing his face right to hers, and before she could even flinch, his tongue darted out, and in a single swift motion, he licked the cum off her face, and was staring into her eyes with a heated intensity. She felt a strange tingle elsewhere at the sight of him doing something so unorthodox, and even though she could clearly see that it had been intended to incite her, the knowledge did nothing to stop her from being provoked. She grabbed his face to hers and kissed him, releasing some small portion of the tension that had been building within her, the tightness in her chest releasing slightly as he kissed her roughly back, his hands grabbing her, his body rolling over hers. He pinned her easily beneath him, and despite the waning of his erection, she felt both fear that he was going to break his promise, and anticipation that the unsatisfied need she couldn’t quite name would be fulfilled. Instead of meeting her hips with his as she almost expected, his hand slid between their bodies and began once more stroking her toward a climax. Her head spun with the swiftness of their building tension, how quickly they’d gone from teasing and touching the night before to this intense, passionate, bareskin romp around his bed.</p><p>Before she knew it, she was moaning again, her back arching, and her muscles quivering as a second release washed over her, and as she once more descended from that high, she found herself staring up into his black eyes, feeling both her own, and his cascading emotions. It was too much. Too strong, too fast, too many undulating thoughts and body parts.</p><p>He rolled to the side, freeing her, and she scrambled from the bed wordlessly, yanking on her shorts and t-shirt, not bothering with her bra, before she practically ran from his room, not daring to look back as he lay silently on his bed, making no move to stop her from running away. She rushed back to her own room, putting two doors between them, and collapsed onto her bed, breathing in panicked huffs, burying her face into the blanket, and trying her best to calm her spiraling thoughts. She didn’t know what exactly had made her run, what had been the tipping thought, but one she recalled much too clearly was his desire to pull her under his blankets against his naked body, and just sleep. She’d wanted to, and that scared her. She’d seen his eagerness to work her up again, and see if he could bring her off a third time. She’d wanted to, and that had worried her. She’d felt the possessiveness that he claimed her with, and THAT had terrified her. She knew that he was obsessive, that he was intense, and dominating, but as she’d stared up at him, he’d been so certain that she was HIS, she’d just wanted to escape the cage of his arms, of his thoughts, of being possessed by him so entirely that even her own body seemed to agree.</p><p>She’d thought him rather handsome, she’d found him to be useful, and trustworthy, and as she’d stared up into his face, a warmth spreading through her chest, she’d found him comfortable. A kind of dangerous comfortable that one could easily overlook, until faced with the same feeling reflected back, and named. His mind had had a name for the feeling. He’d been ready to accept the growing comfort. He’d felt it before, seen it in others, and wasn’t scared at all by it. It was a form of love, he thought. The idea that love, of any kind, might develop between them was simply more than she could handle.</p>
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<a name="section0014"><h2>14. Summer Heat</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Hermione hid in her room almost the whole next day, avoiding the possibility of running into Snape, of facing the uncomfortable thoughts that being around him brought up. Instead, she went through her bag, putting clothes away in drawers, tossing bits of rubbish into the small waste bin near her bed, but leaving a good amount of survival necessities hidden within, not so optimistic that she was willing to unpack entirely, and risk losing everything if they needed to run again. She heard Snape coming and going from his room several times, but didn’t dare peek out to see what he was up to. She lay on her bed, idly wondering if he’d yet turned his room into a colorless void. Would he dare, in someone else’s house?</p><p>After too many hours of sitting around, organizing and reorganizing her drawers, she could pretend to be busy no longer. She cracked the door open, and peered out, checking that the coast was clear before she snuck past his door, and down the stairs. His bedroom door was shut tightly, and didn’t open, though she kept glancing back at it, nervous. She felt almost more embarrassed for running away than she did for letting him see her stark naked, and she wasn’t sure what she was supposed to say when she saw him again. Was she supposed to ask about their Occlumency lessons? Tiptoe around the growing adoration he felt for her, or provoke his anger to avoid chatting about what had happened last night? She just wasn’t sure, and as she secreted her way to the kitchen, she let her mind run wild, turning over possibilities, mapping out possible happenings.</p><p>“Oh, Miss Granger! I wasn’t sure if you were out of bed or not.”</p><p>Hermione jumped nearly a foot in the air at the voice behind her, spinning to see the not-quite familiar wizard who’d allowed them into his home.</p><p>“Yes, yes, I’ve been unpacking a bit, cleaning up…” She yammered, feeling as though her heart were about to beat out of her chest with the fright. She could read the worry on his face, matched by the concern in his thoughts as he looked her over, noted her darting eyes, the defensive way she held herself. </p><p>“I was wondering, would you and your… friend be willing to help out around the house a bit? I have the refugees helping out when they’re around, but it’s such a large house, I find it difficult to do it all myself these days.” Shroge entreated, his hands in a supplicating gesture. Hermione noticed that his fingers were covered in dirt, and she glanced from the hallway to the back door.</p><p>“Were you working in your garden? I’d love to help.” She agreed, anything to get out of the house, away from the possibility of running into Snape alone between rooms. She followed the wizard outside as he chatted at her, telling her the ins and outs of his small garden, what he was growing, the complications of the rootweed that was terrorizing his tomato plant.</p><p>Hermione threw herself into the task of digging up the noxious roots, tossing them into a bucket before they could burrow back into the earth and destroy the garden. She worked tirelessly, ignoring the dull sun that tried to shine through the clouds, hoping for the rain that might lower the blazing temperature beneath those clouds, and wash away the sweat that dripped down her face. </p><p>Eventually, she was forced to relent, her thirst getting the better of her, she excused herself inside, wiping her forehead, and tossing the dirt-covered gloves aside. She valiantly tried to dust her pants and stomp the dirt from her shoes before she entered the house, but she felt it was a lost cause. She might as well consign herself to be covered in earth until she had time to shower. She’d just have to sweep the kitchen floor later.</p><p>She grabbed a glass from a cabinet and filled it from the tap, chugging it down as she stared out the glass doors that displayed the large back yard, and tall fields of grass that surrounded the house. She could just barely see the edge of the garden, and grumbled to herself as she watched a few of the rootweeds tumble from the bucket and begin burrowing back into their stolen home. </p><p>“Making mud pies today, are we?” Snape’s sarcastic drawl pulled her attention away from the greenery outside, and she whirled around, and gave him an unappreciative glare for his comment.</p><p>“Gardening.” She corrected him, not daring to meet his eyes. She turned her back on him, pretending to focus on the yard through the glass as she took another drink, and listened to him open the muggle fridge, and close it. Seeing the muggle appliances that littered the house had given her great joy, and she couldn’t deny her anticipation for chilled lemonade, especially if this heat wave kept up.</p><p>“You look a bit flushed, you should probably take a moment to cool down.” Snape’s deep voice came from right behind her, and she braced one hand on the counter, refusing to turn and face him, even as she felt him brushing her hair aside, baring her sweat-dampened back to the cool air of the house. </p><p>A freezing wet lump pressed into the bare spot between her neck and shoulder, and she yelped in surprise, finally deigning to turn and glare at Snape, and the offending ice-cube he’d pressed into her skin. He smirked, and lowered the ice again, letting her watch until it was below her line of site as he slid a cold wet trail down the pulse at her neck, and along the collar of her shirt. The look in his eyes threatened to melt the ice with it’s heat, and she felt her breath catch as his free hand came forward, lifting her shirt so he could touch the ice to her belly, making her jerk slightly in shock again. She could see the playfulness of his thoughts, and with the pleasant feeling of the ice, it was all too easy to lean back against the counter, and let him run the ice down a line to her navel. </p><p>It DID feel rather pleasant. He lifted the ice to her lips, and she felt them part at he traced her bottom lip with it. He led it in a wet line down her chin, neck and right along her cleavage. His thoughts were pulsing a bright ruby, and she could almost feel the erection straining at his trousers and mind. The thought of him being so aroused, right here in the kitchen, made her nervous. If it weren’t for his billowy black robes, it’d be a visible condition, and instantly noticeable if Shroge were to come inside. As it was, a quick glance at his hips told her that his state was well hidden by his clothes. Clothes that looked suspiciously like his teaching robes. He must’ve transfigured his clothes into what he preferred, now that there was no worry of being spotted. She looked over the many buttons of his frock coat, and wondered idly if it’d done the job of hiding his arousal while he was a professor.</p><p>The cold wet droplets that ran down her skin were being left along one side of her breasts, and then the other, leaving her to ponder his clothes with no answer, his eyes fixed firmly on the wet trail he was leaving on her, a hungry look leaving no doubt that he’d like his tongue to replace the ice. Hermione gasped as a mischievous smirk graced his face, and he dropped the small frozen block right down her shirt. She instinctively grabbed for it, holding her shirt away, and let it drop to the floor, offering him a glare.</p><p>She growled wordlessly at him, contemplating vengeance, only to come up short. She had no idea how to get him back for that, and the galling smile on his face said he knew it.</p><p>“You should finish your water.” He suggested glibly, heading out the door without a backward glance. She muttered under her breath, and picked  her glass back up, glaring after him as he wandered out to speak to their host. </p><p>She turned over the last thought she’d managed to catch before he’d stalked off. His strange and irritating performance had been nothing more than an attempt to get a reaction from her. She’d seen a sort of relief that her skittish retreat the previous night wasn’t permanent. He’d been worried that when she left, she wouldn’t be coming back. She kicked the melting piece of ice under the cabinet, and glowered out at him. Couldn’t he just leave her to fret for a few days about the growing closeness between them, without needing to make her admit that when it came right down to it, her worry would lose out against her enjoyment? Couldn’t he afford her SOME small smidgen of privacy in which to at least TRY to reason with herself? No, the man had to go an destroy all sanity with his stupid lecherous advances, and his sexual thoughts. Now she was turned on, irritated, and had to go back outside and finish gardening alongside an elderly wizard, while trying not to think of that stupid ice cube trailing along her skin, or his lips following after it.</p><p>-</p><p>Hermione stared up at her ceiling, losing her own argument against herself. She SHOULDN’T go into his room tonight. One night was a fluke, twice was a precedent. She didn’t want to set the wrong pattern for the rest of their stay here; she didn’t want him EXPECTING her to come into his room every night, and play sexual games with him. But damn it, if his antics with the ice earlier that day hadn’t left her feeling the need to both shout at him, and use him for satisfaction. She was too frustrated to sleep, and tried arguing her case for simply lying there until she passed out. She wasn’t doing too well, especially after she realized she was absent-mindedly rubbing her breast through her t-shirt, fantasizing about how his lips had felt the previous evening.</p><p>“Damn it all.” She griped, rolling from her bed, and stalking across the hall with purposeful steps. She tried to tell herself it was just to chastise him for dropping ice down her shirt, and turning her on unnecessarily; nothing more. She knocked on the door gently, almost hoping he was asleep already.</p><p>“Come in.” His voice called through the door. She turned the knob, and stepped into his room, shutting the door behind her, suddenly worried about lingering in the hallway, and being caught by Shroge. Silly, really. He wasn’t her parent, and shouldn’t care that she was entering a man’s room at night.</p><p>“How can I assist you tonight, Miss Granger?” He asked, not bothering to look up from where he was writing at his desk. </p><p>“You can assist me by not dropping ice down my shirt in future.” She snapped, eyeing the imposing glass of ice water next to his work, and cloaking her unnerving excitement with annoyance.</p><p>“Is there something else you’d prefer I let down your shirt, instead?” He taunted, setting his quill down, and fixing her with a knowing stare. She kept her glower in place, and forced THAT thought from her mind.</p><p>“No, there’s not. I’d also discourage you from needlessly making me uncomfortable while I’ve got work to do.” She held her head high, her arms crossed.</p><p>“Are you wearing any knickers tonight?” He asked pointedly, his eyes traveling along the rather shapeless nightgown she wore.</p><p>“I don’t see how that’s any of your business.” She asserted, keeping her mind firmly away from thoughts that would answer his question. He offered a sporting half-smile at her charade, and turned his head back to his paperwork. WHAT he could possibly have paperwork for, she didn’t know.</p><p>“Hand me that scroll of parchment over there.” He ordered, gesturing to the nightstand. She huffed, but moved to retrieve the paper, handing it to him with a wasted pout. He took it, and set it down on the desk, not bothering to open it as he stood, suddenly towering over her.</p><p>“If the state of your underwear wasn’t my business, you wouldn’t have come into my room without it last night, would you have done?” He asked, staring down at her with a predatory gaze. She glanced from the parchment to his eyes, realizing that it was just a ruse to get her within arms reach.</p><p>“One night does not make it your business.” She tried to argue.</p><p>“And the night previous?” He asked, smirking down at her. She huffed indignantly, floundering for anything to say. “Did the ice really irritate you so much?” He asked, amused as he skimmed her frustrated thoughts.</p><p>“Between your actions, the heat, and being aroused half the afternoon, yeah, I’m pretty annoyed.” She replied. </p><p>“Allow me to make it up to you?” He flirted, bringing his hands up to rest on her hips. She felt a strange sense of power at his version of an apology, and nodded once.</p><p>“You can try.” She taunted. He smirked at her challenge, and used his hold on her hips to guide her so her bum was resting on the edge of the desk, and he was pressed into her front. She resolutely kept her arms crossed, refusing to help him seduce her. </p><p>Instead of kissing her as she’d expected, he skimmed his fingers down her thighs, running them back up bare skin as he pushed her nightgown slowly toward her hips. She stared into his eyes, reading his enjoyment of teasing her as he caressed her thighs. He pushed it higher and higher, revealing her plain knickers, and bare stomach. His fingers traced burning patterns the whole way to her ribcage, where he was stopped by her petulant arms. He dropped the fabric in order to manually unfold her arms, and leave them dangling by her sides. When his path was clear, he started again from her thighs, making his way up her hips, past her navel, and eventually baring her breasts. Hermione fought the urge to cover herself, instead grabbing the edge of the desk she leaned against, forcing her hands to stay put. The air-conditioned chill of the room made her nipples harden, and Snape’s scrutiny did nothing to alleviate their discomfort. His fingers gently massaged the underside of her breasts a moment, kneading the sensitive skin, and relieving just a small portion of the frustration that had pent up in her.</p><p>He tenderly plucked at her hardened peaks, a carnal enjoyment of the action flashing through his thoughts as a dark red, an even darker contemplation being shoved aside for the present. She didn’t bother chasing his fantasy this time, following his lead, and focusing entirely on what he was doing, the delicious tingles that were traveling from her breasts, straight to her groin. She had to admit, he was making up for earlier rather fantastically. Long pale fingers covered her chest, and slid back down her ribcage, resting on either side of her waist. Finally, he bent his head and kissed her, a slow, heated kiss that she returned, and left no question of whether or not she was enjoying herself. She could feel the rough wool of his coat, the many buttons pressing into her front, and the fact that his clothes were pressing into her bare skin left her more turned on. She was bared to him once more while he retained his clothes. As far as patterns went, she couldn’t say she hated it. It was rather arousing to know that he was still fully dressed while she was exposed to the room, like some sort of shameless wanton. </p><p>She could feel the fingers of one of his hands voyaging lower, pressing confidently into the warmth of her knickers, rubbing slow circles that matched the pace of his kisses. Hermione felt all of the tension melting away, all of her worries and fears dissipating in a haze of pure bliss. She brought her hand forward, rubbing at the front of his robes, feeling the evident bulge from his own arousal. With such fire burning between them now, she could almost forget the frightening comfort from the night before, and she let it slip from her mind, focusing on the sweet thrills his hand was creating. </p><p>She could feel the orgasm creeping closer, and just at the edge, he pulled his fingers away, snatching her hands as she moved to try to finish the job herself. A whine of desperation escaped her throat as he held her hands away from her needy core, forcing her legs further apart with his knee. He let her hands go, grabbing her hips again, to lift her onto his desk, scattering the papers slightly as he sat her on the edge of the wooden top, and nestled his hips between her thighs. She grabbed handfuls of his robes, dragging him closer to her, starving for the release he’d cruelly denied her. His kisses turned vicious, nipping her bottom lip, and kissing nearly hard enough to bruise as he unrestrainedly bucked his hips into hers, rubbing his covered erection into her knickers. Her legs were wrapped around his without any thought, and her fingers twined in his hair, grabbing, and pulling, and trying to convey her need. </p><p>His lips moved to her neck, nipping and sucking, making her shudder with the sensations that were assaulting her. One of his hands was pinching at her nipple again, tugging and twisting with torturous delight, his other hand at the small of her back, pressing her body into his. She groaned, her back arching into his touch, her head lolling to the side, and she felt the wave starting again, so, so close.</p><p>He pulled away again, and she nearly screamed with frustration, her eyes snapping back open to glare at him. The glare didn’t last long, though, replaced with a wince of discomfort. He’d given a rather sharp tug to her breast before releasing it, letting his hand slide up her chest, and around the back of her neck. He held her, a bit of her hair in his grasp, and pulled her with him, not so roughly as to cause pain, but holding her firmly enough that she had no option but to do as directed. </p><p>Wordlessly, he pulled her to the bed, letting her go so he could pull her nightgown over her head. He snatched up his wand from the nightstand, and tapped at his robes, setting the buttons to undo themselves in a chain reaction down his front, leaving him to drop most of his clothes to the floor as soon as he’d replaced his wand. Hermione didn’t think. She just moved. Her hands were on him before he could reach for his trousers, pulling him back into a fierce kiss, pressing her bare chest to his. His hands slid over her skin, appreciating each and every inch of her bare torso. </p><p>He guided her the small distance to the top of the bed, lying her across his still-made bedcovers, and letting her twine herself around him. He was more than content to lie between her legs, and as she met his eyes, she felt his overwhelming appreciation for her obvious desire. It was why he hadn’t let her orgasm. He wanted to draw it out as long as possible, and make her squirm against him, just like this. He enjoyed the way she was crushing herself up against him, pulling him in, squeezing him with her legs. It was the closest he’d get to sex until he took her virginity.</p><p>She froze for a brief moment at that thought. He seemed absolutely positive that it’d be him, there’d been no doubt in his thoughts. It hadn’t been IF he took her virginity, it’d been WHEN. The way he was licking and suckling at the peak of her breast made it less frightening a thought than it might have been, and she let the moment go, relishing the feel of him pressing once more into her burning center. The crude imitation of sex that had them rutting against one another left her breathless, and entirely unsatisfied. She tapped her palm against his back, trying to gasp his name as he nibbled her earlobe and tugged at her hair. </p><p>“Prof- Sna-...” She huffed, trying to get his attention, and being rewarded with his fierce onyx stare. The first thing she noticed were his thoughts, his discomfort at the moniker ‘Professor Snape’ while he had her in such a personal situation. It created an errant thought of possible alternatives, which was swiftly bulldozed by his evaluation of her. She was flushed, obviously aroused, and looked half an inch from losing her mind if he didn’t deliver. </p><p>“You want to cum?” He whispered, his fingers teasing a path down her side. </p><p>“Mmhm.” She groaned, pushing a black curtain of hair back from his face.</p><p>“Say you’re mine.” He growled possessively, his fingers dipping between her thighs, replacing his erection, and rubbing their way straight into her mind. </p><p>“Hm?” She moaned, her eyes locked on his, trying to figure out what his game was. There was always a game.</p><p>“Admit you’re mine, and I’ll let you come.” He demanded, his fingers slowing just as she thought she was going to get close. She whimpered, trapped by the ultimatum. His eyes held a greedy lust, more than physical, a dark magenta swirling with green covetous swirls. A bright red sexual need for everything she was, and a nearly neon yellow as she made her mouth move.</p><p>“I’m yours. Please.” She begged, pressing her forehead to his, needing what he was offering, and willing to pay whatever price he asked. His fingers pressed only slightly harder, circled a bit faster, but it was enough. Stars exploded behind her eyes, her back arched, and her nails dug into his shoulders. </p><p>His fingers slowed to a halt, and the wave of pleasure ebbed, leaving her staring up into heated black eyes, too dazed to make sense of the swirling thoughts she could just barely perceive. His thoughts were slowly coming back into focus, his fingers still resting against her core, and she couldn’t seem to find any ounce of embarrassment or shame as he bent his head to hers, and kissed her. It wasn’t a gentle kiss, but it matched his mind, fierce and full of hunger. He wanted her in a way he’d hardly wanted anything just then. She arched into him, almost welcoming that need, feeling an unfulfilled desire deep within her. The orgasm had been great, but she craved more. It was the feeling his fingers inside her had created that she wanted. </p><p>She heard a low growl come from his throat, his hands moving to pull her underwear off in nearly a frenzy, his lips pressing into her chest and belly as he moved to pull the small bit of fabric completely from her body. He then slid back up her body, kissing his way back to her lips, and he plunged his fingers into her faster than she had time to realize what he was doing. She gasped in surprise, but as he jerked them in and out quickly, the gasp turned to a moan, and she felt her hips rolling into the motions, her thoughts scattered to the feeling, barely aware enough to feel his mouth on her neck, kissing and nipping. The force of another orgasm burst through her, and she collapsed underneath him, panting, and spent.</p><p>He loomed over her, watching her heavy breathing, and slowly withdrew his fingers from her, making her squirm in mild discomfort.</p><p>“Was it too much?” He asked, noticing her discomfort. She shook her head wordlessly, even though she could feel the strange throbbing that was left inside her, as though a phantom of his fingers was still pressing into her. It had been perfect, just what she’d been craving, despite the lingering soreness. It wasn’t terrible, she thought. It was more that the feeling of his fingers sliding back out of her was strange. Though, with the ache left behind from just two of  his fingers, she couldn’t fathom what sort of result his fully erect phallus might have. He was staring into her eyes, reading her easily.</p><p>“I’ll make a potion for you, so it won’t hurt at all.” He promised, answering her worries with a solution, and brushing hair from her forehead as he rolled to his side, and draped one arm over her middle. She lay still, taking it all, the weight of his arm, the concept of making love without any of the rumored pain or blood, and she finally managed to voice a thought.</p><p>“You don’t have a potions lab.” She panted, more than a little disappointed that he wouldn’t be able to follow through.</p><p>“Not yet. Shroge has offered me use of his basement to set one up, and even has a few sparse potions ingredients with which to start.” Snape responded, his eyes wandering over her naked body. She could feel the solid pulsing beat that filled him, his own desire going unfulfilled as they chatted. He hadn’t so much as taken his pants off, even though he’d satisfied her into the consistency of a mushy pudding. She moved her hand, gently caressing the front of his trousers, trying to return the pleasure he’d given her. His eyes closed in appreciation, and his hips rolled toward her slightly, encouraging the contact. She watched his face twist with enjoyment as she rubbed harder, gripping slightly through the fabric, and she wondered if it was really as good for him as it seemed.</p><p>“Look at me.” She urged, loving the way his eyes snapped open, and fixed on her instantly. She could immediately read everything on the surface of his mind, the pleasurable sensation of her hand on him, not as physically pleasing as jerking off, but more enjoyable, because it wasn’t his own hand. It was her’s, and even without skin on skin, even if it wouldn’t make him cum, he wouldn’t dare demand more, and risk losing this. She could tell he wanted more though, even if he wouldn’t ask for it. She used both hands to work his pants open, and his erection free, gripping it more firmly as she stared up at him. </p><p>“That’s… cheating.” He grumbled, not really caring that she was using his own mind to unlock the secrets of his pleasure. Most people had to learn their partner’s preferences by doing, and testing, not by plucking them straight from their heads.</p><p>“So… Tell me exactly what to do, and I won’t have to stare at you the whole time.” She offered, stroking him to the base, and splaying her fingers across his testicles in a gentle touch that came directly from his thoughts. He groaned, and slid his hand down to hers, wordlessly directing her on how to touch, squeeze, and stroke in his favorite ways. She quickly developed a preference for the way he responded when she gripped the top of his shaft, and jerked his foreskin rapidly back and forth over the head. His whole body seemed to respond, his hips thrusting, his face twisting, his lungs panting, and his fists balling. She relished the groan of pleasure he made, and slowed her hand, teasing him the same way he’d teased her earlier. His groan turned to a growl of displeaure, and she glanced up from her torturing hand, to his face, reading his emotions nearly before she saw the expression on his face. He didn’t particularly enjoy the turnabout, but he found her daring and teasing beyond reproach. He knew he’d earned this suffering, and was rather fond of the mischievous glint in her eyes as she did it all over again. When her hand jerked to a stop, and he pried his eyes open again, she saw that she’d brought him mere strokes from orgasm, his heavy breath and twitching fingers belying his calm expression as he fought his desire to roll on top of her and rub himself to completion against her wet sex. THAT was an interesting thought, and she silently pushed at his hips, forcing him to roll onto his back, even as he looked at her in curiosity. She glanced at him, picking up on his silent question, and not answering, keeping her thoughts to herself as she rolled to her knees, and began tugging his pants the rest of the way off. He lifted his hips and legs to help her remove them, wondering why she chose tonight to have him fully undressed. She clearly didn’t plan on fucking him, and last night, she’d managed to suck him off just fine with his trousers on.</p><p>As his pants hit the carpeted floor, she trailed her fingers up his thigh, across his straining erection, and over his belly.</p><p>“It was YOUR idea, so remember, you’ve only got yourself to blame for this.” Hermione goaded, bracing her hands on his chest as she swung one leg over his hips, and straddled him. His eyes widened, and she could see disbelief filling his thoughts as she reached down between them, and held his member still against his abdomen as she rested her own hips over top of him. He bit his lower lip, his hands resting on her hips, and his eyes closing in contented satisfaction at finally feeling the heat of them pressed together. She felt an unfamiliar smug smirk tugging at her lips as she slid slowly back and forth on top of him, doing just what he’d wanted. The only difference was that she was still in control, not letting him grind against her to a swift completion, but rather sliding torturously to and fro, even as his fingers gripped her tightly, encouraging her to move faster. She ignored the silent entreaty, and kept up her slow pace, watching his face twist with agonized pleasure, and his thoughts swirl in a chaotic whirlwind of need. She could almost feel herself on top of him in his mind, the amazing sensation of her own sex pressing into his excruciatingly hard shaft.</p><p>She felt a bit uncomfortable being naked, and so visible in her position atop him, but she did her best to ignore that embarrassment, and focus solely on the rising pleasure of his thoughts. He was desperate to cum, and enjoying the way she was taking control, despite his barely controlled need to be the one in charge. With her on top of him, there was no doubt at all that she was as invested as he was. He knew she may not have logically figured her feelings all the way out, but like this, he had no doubt that she wanted him.</p><p>She stared down into his eyes, and as he stared back openly, he didn’t spare a second thought for her excessive ability to see into his thoughts. With her eyes locked on his face, he could read her expressions almost as easily, she really was so open with her reactions around him, that he could see the lust that glazed her eyes, the parted lips panting as she tilted her hips just right to pleasure herself over him. He could see the slight pull of her brows, matched by her slightly smirking mouth that told him she was enjoying having him at her mercy. She’d never been cruel, but in this fashion, she was enjoying torturing him so deliciously. She could say what she wanted about the dominance games he liked to play, but it was more than clear from her flushed cheeks and flashing eyes that she was getting just as much pleasure from the act as he was.</p><p>“Please…” He pleaded, playing the game so wondrously. Hermione groaned, relishing the sound of his entreaty. She couldn’t recall ever hearing him beg so desperately before. She knew it was a simple tactic to rile her up, but even with that knowledge, she felt it sink right to her heated center.</p><p>“Please what?” She teased, sliding oh so slowly from base to tip, and back. He groaned, and his fingers dug at her skin, trying to push and pull in agitated ecstacy. She grasped his wrists, and gently pulled his hands away, trapping them above his head in a movement that she’d never considered before she saw it in his memories. His eyes widened in surprise at her bold move, but he didn’t struggle against the hold. He balled his fists, and let his eyes flutter closed as she slid back and forth atop him with an agonizing pace.</p><p>“Faster…” He panted, wanting so badly to reach that blissful peak. She could see it on his face, even when he closed his eyes. He was so close, and yet not quite there. His hips were rutting against hers, his teeth digging into his bottom lip in desperation, and Hermione considered giving in. She stared down at him, feeling a flickering of his emotions as his eyes fluttered open and closed, unable to maintain solid eye contact as she used his hard shaft to stimulate her own sensitive skin. When she tilted her hips just so, it got that amazing bundle of nerves, and she slid it quickly back and forth across the glans of his phallus. The zap of instant pleasure that flooded her and caused her body to twitch involuntarily shifted her hips back over the head, and she groaned as it caused another amazing tingle of excitement. Rubbing against him like this, it didn’t matter that her body had a mind of its own, even twitching her hips back and forth was causing more friction.</p><p>She rocked faster, getting a bit lost in the sensation of freely pleasuring herself with the motion, despite the occasional zing of muscle-tweaking rapture. She was bent over him slightly, holding his arms in place, and moving distractedly against him, not paying much attention to the way their bodies were moving together, the way her hips were tilting as she slid past his glans, and over his head. She wasn’t paying any attention at all until a sudden change in the sensation made her jerk to a stop. Her eyes snapped open, and she stared down at him, her breath caught in her throat as she felt what was obviously the tip of his erection pressing against her virgin opening. He’d stopped all motion underneath her, staring up at her, worried he’d stopped too late. It was a strange feeling, being right on the cusp of sexual intercourse, and pausing, staring at one another in worried anticipation. She felt a sudden surge of desire to just drop down, and be done with it. She moved barely a millimeter when his hands jerked from hers, and held her hips still, stopping her from impaling herself on him.</p><p>“Don’t.” He growled, though she could see in his expression that he wanted nothing more than to thrust his hips upward and bury himself in her.</p><p>“Why?” She asked, laying her hands atop his, ready to pull them away from their controlling position.</p><p>“You’ll hurt yourself. It’s more than just the pain, Hermione, you could actually tear something.” He said, and she stared down at him curiously, taking a moment to figure out what about his sentence was so strange. </p><p>“You called me ‘Hermione’.” She said, slowly moving herself upward, so that the tip of his cock was free of the tension, and she could comfortably rest back atop his hips again. </p><p>“Don’t get used to it.” He growled, his fingers now pushing and pulling her again, encouraging her back into the movement that their strange slipup had interrupted. She grinned down at him, savoring the intimacy his use of her name had created. She’d heard him use her given name in his thoughts, but he’d been trying to verbally disntance himself as best he could, and when she thought about it, he hadn’t even been using her surname much recently either. She continued the motions of bringing him off, but her brain was whirling as she did, wondering about his strange attitude toward names. </p><p>“Does this mean I can call you Severus now?” She leaned down to whisper in his ear playfully. He growled in the negative, and she pressed her lips to his neck, kissing butterfly soft persuasion along his throat. “Why can’t I call you Severus?” She asked, pausing only briefly in her kisses to inquire.</p><p>“It implies familiarity.” He said, his voice strained when he finally managed to answer. She leaned away from her kisses to look into his eyes, practically able to feel the lie in his voice, and wanting to know the truth.</p><p>“I’m sitting naked on top of you, practically making love to you, and you’re worried it’s too familiar?” She asked, pausing the motion of her hips to help make her point. He groaned, and stared up at her, unable to form the feelings into words. She sorted quickly through the thoughts he was offering her, hoping she understood it better than him. There were several of the Marauders calling him Snivellus, Lily calling him Sev for so many years, the dark wizards calling him Severus, Students calling him Snape, Professor, and Sir. And then there was her. What was left for her to call him? Her friends called her Hermione, her professors called her Granger, and he called her a stupid girl. What could he possibly call her that didn’t have other feeling to it?</p><p>“I thought we already covered what I am?” Hermione could hear her voice shaking slightly as she used his earlier game against his own tortured mind. “I’m ‘<i>yours</i>’.” She stated boldly.</p><p>“Mine.” He whispered back, his head nodding slightly, despite the strange disconnect she could feel in his thoughts. She held his gaze, searching for it as she moved her hips once more, using the pleasure she gave him to soften his thoughts, and make it easier for her to get through them. She was his, he would watch out for her, he would provide for her, he would take whatever she offered, but… She didn’t reciprocate.</p><p>“You’re stupid.” She exclaimed, leaning over him once more to press her lips to his. He kissed her back easily, familiar with the motions, but when she pulled away to read his eyes, she found a strange thought. Would she find a new plaything after she learned all she could from him?</p><p>She surprised both of them when her hand snapped up to strike his face, filling him with instant fury and disbelief, and anger flooded her.</p><p>“You’re not a plaything, Severus.” She snapped at him, holding him down by the shoulders as he glared up at her.</p><p>“Then what am I?” He asked, his eyes holding a bit of fear, one of his hands circled around her wrist, the other still at her hip.</p><p>“You’re a person, with thoughts and feelings.” She answered, but he sneered.</p><p>“What am I to YOU, if not a plaything, <i>Hermione</i>?” He asked, using her name like a dirty word. </p><p>“You’re my friend, my teacher, my… My partner in trying to destroy Volde-... You-Know-Who. You’re someone I know better than I think I know even myself. You’re… you’re mine.” She said, feeling the same rush of possessiveness that she’d felt when imagining him with Lily. “We’ve been over this, Professor! I’m not using you just to scratch some teenage itch! I care about you, and I’m comfortable with you, and I don’t want anyone else to touch you.”</p><p>“I’m yours?” He asked, sounding a bit skeptical. She nodded, feeling her face flush bright red.</p><p>“Yes. If you’re allowed to say that I BELONG to you, then I’m allowed to do the same.” She huffed.</p><p>“Prove it.” He ordered, and she looked at him questioningly, searching his mind for his meaning. She blushed a deeper red when she saw it, and she nodded once, agreeing to do what he was asking. She stared at his face, worried that he’d change his mind at any moment as he let go of her wrist and hip, and let his arms fall to the mattress on either side of them. He was staring up at her with the same intensity with which she watched him, and she felt another wave of embarrassment wash over her as she bent her face to the crook of his neck and kissed him as she had earlier. He made no move to stop her, but also didn’t move to help her as she began once more pleasuring them both She could feel the aching sensation of wanting to be filled, but didn’t dare attempt to insert his erection, worried about his words on tearing something.</p><p>She focused on the pleasure that had dwindled for her, trying to reach that same level of enjoyment she had before his thoughts distracted her. She kissed her way along his shoulder, across his collarbone, and up the other side of his neck to his ear, grinding against him in ways that made her quickly worry about her own orgasm coming too soon. She could just barely see his fists balled in the blanket underneath them, silently trying to hold back his own gratification. She slid one hand from his shoulder, and grasped his hair, feeling the slight damp of sweat near his temple, the silky strands of thick onyx giving her a good hold on him as she whispered in his ear.</p><p>“Say you’re mine and I’ll let you cum.” She promised, using the same words he had earlier. “Say you belong to me, and I’ll stay here all night.” She added, hoping to entice him further. It was a gamble, and she didn’t dare look up to read his thoughts, but she could feel the stiffness in his body in reaction, the twitch of his cock against her folds.</p><p>“I belong to you. Every part of me is yours.” He managed to moan, his hands unable to stay away any longer. He grabbed her face and brought her lips to his, kissing her as he thrust desperately against her swollen womanhood, quickly aiming for his release. Hermione mewled as her hips tilted, letting his thrusts carry his shaft right along the perfect path to make her own orgasm cascade over him.</p><p>As she stilled on top of him, she buried her face in his neck, hoping to hide her blush. They were breathing heavily, covered in sweat, and she felt her thoughts sluggishly trying to process what the hell had just happened. It seemed like much more than the sexy games they’d been playing at the beginning of the evening. Plus, she’d agreed to spend the night. Just the thought made her want to scramble back to her own room and hide, but she took breath after breath, clinging to his shaking body in hopes of overcoming her sudden nerves.</p><p>He was stroking her hair, as if he knew what she was thinking, and was trying to soothe her. Hermione focused on her breathing, trying to quiet her thoughts with the meditation of clearing her mind, feeling a deep, satisfied sleepiness cover her like a blanket. He was warm underneath her, his hands were slow and gentle, and she just couldn’t keep her eyes open. She fell asleep surrounded by the scent of him, and his warmth.</p>
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<a name="section0015"><h2>15. The Trouble With Death Eaters Is...</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Hermione awoke, feeling strangely warm and as she yawned, her cheek seemed to stick to what was underneath. She pried her eyes open and lifted her head, slightly confused by the unfamiliar room that met her sight, before she remembered she was in their new safe house. She glanced at her bed, and suddenly remembered that she was also, not in her own room. </p><p>The bare chest that had been underneath her cheek was rising and falling with slow, even breaths. She stared at the pale face surrounded by a halo of black hair, drinking the sight in, trying to categorize the feeling of waking up, clearly naked, lying on top of a naked man. A naked Severus Snape, for that. She could feel her breath coming in quicker pants as she stared into his sleeping face, left to her own thoughts for once, as his dreaming mind and closed eyes kept her firmly shut out of his. His arm was stretched out, just under ‘her’ pillow, and she realized it must’ve been underneath her, or perhaps even wrapped around her before she’d awoken. His other was hidden under the blanket, and she stared at the duvet a moment, wondering when exactly he’d draped it over them. She couldn't recall anything much after pressing her face into his neck. </p><p>She sat still, not wanting to wake him, and not sure if she should get up before he came to. He looked so peaceful in sleep, she felt a strong desire to lie back against him and sleep more. She looked around the room, and caught sight of the books and papers on the desk across from the bed. She recognized several of the daily prophets, and the atlas.</p><p>Curiosity took hold of her and made up her mind. She carefully slid across the bed, doing her best not to move the blanket, and staring at Snape's face the whole time, an unfamiliar anxiety filling her that she might disturb his slumber. As her feet touched the carpeted floor, she looked back toward the desk, tip-toeing to it. She grabbed her nightgown from the floor on her way and slid it over her head before taking the uncomfortable wooden chair that sat before the desk. She looked over the documents, surprised to see lists, written in Snape's handwriting, of names. There were Order members, Hogwarts students, and possible allies. She noticed that the names seemed to be split into three groups: missing, incarcerated, and dead. Her heart clenched as she looked over each list, familiar with many already.</p><p>On another sheet of parchment, she found a crude chart he'd drawn up, each name from the ‘missing’ list was connected to another list of locations. She felt a swell of emotion at the realization that while she'd been avoiding him, he'd been mapping out possible reunions and rescues.</p><p>She glanced back at him, and froze. He was awake, his head propped up on one arm, watching her go over his work.</p><p>“Did you know, a large part of the appeal of spending the entire night with someone is waking up next to them?” He asked conversationally, his hand gesturing to the empty spot next to him. Hermione felt her cheeks heat as she glanced from his bed, to the door. She contemplated making a run for it, before he could get another verbal jab in, but before she could budge, he sat up more fully, running both hands through his messy hair to remove it from his face. She stared at him a moment, awestruck by the sight of him so very unlike anything she’d seen before. His entire torso was bare, she could see the muscles of his arms and chest moving as he shoved his hair back. The blanket had fallen to his hips, exposing the thin trail of hair that descended from his navel. His hair was more unkempt than she’d known it could even get, continually falling across his face as he yawned. He blinked at her owlishly, and she suddenly wondered if he did enjoy sleeping in, despite his usual brisk pace of waking and preparing for the day.</p><p>“Would you like me to rejoin you, then?” She asked boldly, folding her hands in her lap.</p><p>“Mm. Better not. We both need to bathe, I have potions to get started on, and we need to figure out how to break into- and out of- Azkaban.” He said, sounding surly, even as he swung his feet over the edge of the bed. Hermione silently watched him as he stalked around the room, pulling just enough clothes on to make it to the bathroom. Her fading blush renewed at the bare skin that he seemed so comfortable in, but she didn’t bother averting her gaze as she compared the morning Severus to the raven haired incubus who’d plagued her evenings. He seemed more sluggish, not at all the driven man who’d been intent on teasing her. His manhood was softer, not the stiff monster that would have torn at her. Instead of driving her into a frenzy of wanting to be sexually satisfied, she felt an odd desire to pull him back to bed and rest in his arms. As his eyes swept up to meet hers, she saw the same need, counterbalanced by the knowledge of how much work they had ahead of them. He might be selfish, but he knew how to be responsible, too, and today would be a test of that. </p><p>He left her in his room without one more spoken word passing between them, only a gentle caress of his fingers through the bottom of her hair as he passed her as a farewell. Hermione fought against the shiver that wanted to go up her back at the familiar gesture, the small allowance he made for his self-indulgent urges on his path to take care of their other commitments. </p><p>She stared at the lists for a moment, considering the longest one, the missing people, scattered to the wind, possibly in hiding, and possibly dead. They really should find a way to determine who was still alive before they wasted time looking all over England. She felt they’d already spent too much time looking for a respectable new headquarters. She hadn’t spoken to Shroge about adding more people onto the guestlist, but she was hoping he allowed them usage of his house for the larger body of Order allies. She tapped her chin, going through possible venues to determine whether a large group of ‘undesirables’ would be on the run. She kept coming back to the Ministry. Her, Harry, and Ron’s infiltration to steal the Horcrux had ended rather poorly, and she wasn’t keen on heading back, when they’d likely be expecting another attempt to get in. Surely, though, they would have exactly what she needed. A list of those they were still trying to catch and detain. That would help them learn where to start looking. Or perhaps even a list of those thrown in Azkaban, maybe a blueprint, or at least which cell they’d been confined to. Allies first, she thought. She had no idea how they were going to break into Azkaban, but she was certain that they’d need more people to do it. </p><p>By the time Snape re-entered the room, she thought she had a good plan.</p><p>“I need you to brew a polyjuice potion.” She announced, turning to face him.</p><p>“What for?” He asked, opening a drawer, and pulling clothes out. He set them on the bed, seeming to put together his whole outfit before he removed the towel from his hips, rubbed at his hair, and set it aside. Hermione did her best not to stare at his damp, naked body as he dressed, forcing her words through her mouth.</p><p>“Before we can even think about breaking into Azkaban, we need more people to pull it off. In order to get more allies, we have to find them, since anyone opposed to You-Know-Who will be in hiding, but we don’t know who’s hiding, and who’s dead, so we need to get a list of Order members still causing trouble, or still uncaptured. For that, we’ll need to get into the Ministry. Harry, Ron, and I used polyjuice to get in a few months ago, but… I don’t have anymore.”</p><p>“And you don’t think they’ve implemented stronger security since?” he asked, his fingers working his buttons closed, even as he looked at her. </p><p>“Well, they seemed pretty high-security then, I’m not sure how they could’ve gotten worse.” She said, feeling rather silly even as she said it. Of course there was always ‘worse’. </p><p>“If we take a trip back to Spinner’s End, I can get potions ingredients, as well as some of the pre-made potions from my case.” He said. She stared at him. </p><p>“Will it be safe?”</p><p>“I doubt it. They’ll likely have set up traps for us, as well as the fact that we’ll have to be wary of the crumbling structure Bellatrix likely left behind. But I believe it will be safer than taking a trip through a potions shop.”</p><p>“Mmhm.” Hermione nodded, and stood, heading toward the door where her own shower was calling to her. “Should we go today?”</p><p>“I don’t see why not. It won’t get any safer by waiting.” He announced, pulling his frock coat on. Hermione had the door opened before he spoke again. “You forgot something.”</p><p>“What?” She turned to face him, instinctively holding out her hands as he threw something across the room at her. She felt her face heat bright red as a small pile of cotton undergarments was revealed, and she hurried from the room, slamming his door behind her. He enjoyed provoking her far too much, she decided, ditching the worn clothes in her own room, and bringing her fresh set with her to shower. She didn’t want to risk running into him in the hallway, and tempting him into peeling her towel off right there, where Shroge might stumble upon them. </p><p>She kept the shower rather chilly and brief, hoping to dissuade any further strange fantasies of humoring Snape in a rather public stage. She left her hair damp as she dressed, pulling even her shoes on before she stepped into the hallway. She poked her head back into his room, but he seemed to have already departed it, so she made her way down the stairs, finding him in the dining room with a plate of sausage and eggs before him. Shroge sat opposite him, and both ate in silence.</p><p>“Good morning.” She announced her entrance, taking a seat comfortably between both at the oval table. </p><p>“Good morning, Miss Granger. How did you sleep?” Shroge asked, sliding the dishes of food toward her. She served herself and fought the blush that tried to cover her whole face.</p><p>“I slept well, thank you. I was actually wondering if we could speak about the possibility of using your home as a sort of… base of operations. We want to reform as much of the Order of the Phoenix as we can.” She explained before she took her first bite. She kept her eyes on his, trying to seem like she was only politely interested, though she was focusing more on the sudden surge of emotions behind his eyes than the food in her mouth.</p><p>“I’d be honored to help the opposition of those dark wizards trying to control our government, but… I have concerns about the kinds of people you might want to bring in. What sort of people were you thinking?” He asked, setting his fork down, and meeting her gaze levelly. He was giving this conversation the gravity it deserved, nothing less.</p><p>“Well, no one like Mundungus.” She shared a look of distaste with Snape. “Only those who’ve proven to be trustworthy, and in dire need of a safehouse. People like Minerva McGonagall, if she’s still alive. The Weasleys, the Bones’, Rubeus Hagrid.” She listed off people from the missing list, hoping he knew who any of them were.</p><p>“A good sounding group.” He nodded, and she watched as he overturned those he recognized, weighing them and their fight against what he was already doing to help muggleborns escape. “Well, it’s not like I don’t have the room.” He finally agreed, and she felt his wash of warmth at the thought of having his house full once again. She saw snippets of a family, long-gone, children running around, a wife. She smiled, fighting back tears at the darkness that trailed those memories, at the thought of this old man being the only one left of his once large family.</p><p>“Thank you.” She said, turning her eyes back to her food, forcing herself away from his life. When she gave Snape a glad smile, he gave her a concerned quirk of his eyebrow. He’d noticed her shining eyes, and where Shroge had thought them due to gratitude, he knew otherwise. She shook her head slightly, taking another bite, to prove that she was just fine. </p><p>“Miss Granger and myself will be out for part of the day, acquiring potions supplies.” Snape announced, pulling the attention away from the witch.</p><p>“When you’re back, would you mind helping me in the garden again?” Shroge aimed at Hermione.</p><p>“Not at all.” Hermione agreed, glancing from one man to another, not letting her eyes linger long enough to pick up more than eye-color. </p><p>“I’ll begin brewing when we return. If there’s anything you’d like me to brew, as payment for letting us stay here…” Snape trailed off, sounding not at all as generous as the offer implied. Hermione nearly choked on her eggs trying not to laugh at the sour look on his face.</p><p>“Thank you. I’ll keep your offer in mind.” Shroge replied casually, not seeming the least bit put off by Snape’s less-than-friendly tone, even if his offer seemed to convey gratitude. </p><p>Hermione finished her breakfast rather quickly, asking a few questions about apparating in and out of the property, as well as setting up a password for when they returned, so Shroge would know it was them. </p><p>She finally caught up to Snape who was waiting in the shade of the porch, wand in hand, eyes darting around the surrounding field and further forest.</p><p>“Anything wrong?” Hermione asked, bounding down the steps to stand at his side.</p><p>“No.” He answered shortly, offering his arm. Hermione reached out for it, even as she spoke.</p><p>“We have to go into that shed to Apparate from within the wards, otherwise we have to step outside the house’s protections.” She said, tugging him along by their now linked arms. He glared down at her a moment, but allowed her to keep hold of his arm the entire way to the shed, saying nothing about the familiar way they walked in step. Hermione felt a strange tension fill her belly as they walked arm-in-arm, keeping her eyes on the ground and the shed ahead of them, instead of on the surly man who would tease her for enjoying such a normal touch. </p><p>They stepped into the shed, and he paused for merely a moment, checking that she was ready before magically guiding them to his wrecked home. Hermione looked around them, instantly alert as they appeared directly inside the house. A loud wailing sound was going off, and she cursed, dropping his arm, and covering her ears against noise of the Caterwauling Charm. </p><p>“Signus Vox.” Snape unlocked the still standing cabinet, and turned to her, shouting over the noise. “They’ll be here soon. Clear this out, and get out of here. I’ll be in the laboratory, getting supplies.” He ordered, turning with a nostalgic swish of his robes. Hermione turned to the cabinet, and began quickly, and gently, transferring them into a small bag she’d prepared when getting dressed. She’d placed a stabilizing charm on it, so even if she got into a fight, and got thrown around, the contents of the bag wouldn’t be disrupted.</p><p>She glanced around the sitting room as she worked, taking in the giant hole in the wall, the bricks and splintered wood that lay across the lawn, and carpeted floor. The ceiling was starting to slope down into the hole, and she worried it might decide to fall on her head at any moment. She kept a wary eye on it as she put the last potion in the bag, closed it, and slung it over her shoulder. She pulled her wand out, ready to Apparate away, when the familiar billowing black robes came around the torn open wall, stepping into the house, wand in hand. </p><p>“Professor, I thought you were-” She froze, realizing that he was wearing ALL black. There was no hint of white peeking out at the neck from the white oxford Snape had worn under his robes that morning. His hair was lank and greasy, hanging in his face, and he stared at her, wand raised, but casting no spells.</p><p>“You thought I was dead?” He asked, “Come to rob me, have you?” He sneered, and she blanched, meeting his eyes, and trying her best to focus on her breathing, to calm her thoughts. This wasn’t Severus Snape. </p><p>“I’m sorry, I didn’t realize.” She answered, injecting the right amount of self-righteousness into her voice as she added, “I needed supplies. My friends are hurt.”</p><p>“Your friends?” He asked, his face twitching just a bit. Hermione could see the unfamiliar thoughts brewing in his head. He was a Death Eater, young, newly initiated, and hoping to score big. If he brought Hermione Granger to the Dark Lord, he’d be rewarded. If he brought her AND her friends, he’d be a hero. </p><p>“Please, Professor. I know you’re not evil. Please help us.” She pleaded, offering him what he wanted. A chance to find the hideout of the Order of the Phoenix, and to capture them all. Stupid boy.</p><p>“I’ll help you. For Harry Potter.” The man was almost convincing in his somber declaration, except that Hermione could see his mental sneer. <i>"The Boy Who Died. Finally."</i> he thought.</p><p>“We’ve been hiding in a shack in Wiltshire. It’s awful. So many of us cramped together. We’ve been looking for a new place, but… No one wants to help. I’m so glad I’ve found you Professor.” She lied, taking a step towards him, her wand hanging limply in her hand.</p><p>“Take me there, and I’ll find you somewhere new to stay.” He promised, offering his arm, an uncanny imitation of the way Severus had offered his arm earlier. Hermione stepped closer as he relaxed his wand arm, offering him the most genuine smile she could muster. </p><p>He didn’t have a chance to block as she snapped her wand up and sent a jet of red light directly into his chest. His face went slack, and he collapsed to the floor. Hermione flicked her wand, summoning his, and then shot ropes from the end of her wand, securing his limp body, taking no risks. She tucked the wand into her waistband, her eyes scanning the wall and rubble for any other enemies. A sound from behind her drew her wand in that direction, and a second Severus Snape stepped through the doorway that she knew led to the basement.</p><p>“I told you to get the potions and leave.” He glowered, glancing from her wand to his unconscious doppleganger on the floor. “What happened?”</p><p>“I was just getting ready to leave when he came through the wall.” Hermione said, not letting her wand down. “Prove you’re not another imposter.” She demanded, trying not to smirk at the familiar dialogue they’d shared more than once.</p><p>He looked around the room suspiciously, and then met her gaze with purpose, his black eyes settling comfortably on hers, a clear invitation. That alone might have proven who he was, as he was the only person who knew of her legilimency, but she delved briefly into his thoughts anyway. She could feel her own mind through his, the strangely familiar mirror sensation of sifting through his thoughts, and coming across her own. He was presenting her with a memory of the last time she’d demanded he prove his identity, as well as unintentional flashes of what they’d shared the previous night. He seemed a bit distracted as she stood there, looking fierce, formidable, opponent lying to her right, defeated. Compliments from him were rare, but she felt his pride at seeing her so obviously in control of the situation that had taken her by surprise. All he could feel from her thoughts was confidence, daring. He felt a surge of possessive desire to have her, to claim that fiery champion as his. </p><p>She looked away from his eyes, feeling her own rush of desire in response. She wasn’t at all used to men, even a single one for that matter, looking at her with so much appreciation and longing. Especially not one she knew she could easily walk up to and kiss, without fear of rejection. The knowledge that she COULD  have him, right there, if she wanted, created a high, giddy feeling inside of her. She felt powerful in more than one way. </p><p>“I’ve got the ingredients, we should get back. I have things that need brewing.” He sounded a bit gruff, and if she wasn’t mistaken, disappointed to be heading back to their new home. She nodded, and held her hand out for him to take, lacing her fingers through his, and waiting as he turned, pulling her through the crushing pressure of magic, and right into the dimly lit shed at the edge of Shroge’s property.</p><p>They hurried inside, setting both of their bags of loot on the kitchen counter shortly after coming through the back door.</p><p>Snape popped open the bag she’d been carrying, and dug through the contents, searching for something swiftly. He held up a rather large bottle of murky potion that Hermione recognized immediately.</p><p>“Polyjuice Potion.” He explained, anyway. “Enough for me, alone, for three hours, or both of us, an hour and a half each.”</p><p>“We should wait. Until we have more, I mean, to sneak into the Ministry. This one, we should keep for an emergency. Split it in half, and be ready to use it if something goes wrong.” Hermione suggested. He looked at her for a moment, and then nodded, tucking the jar back into the bag. </p><p>“I’ll separate these out, and begin the second batch today. Let me know when dinner’s ready?” He asked, closing up the bag, and preparing to head to his new lab. Hermione nodded, watching him stalk from the kitchen before she leaned against the counter and closed her eyes.</p><p>They’d left the Polyjuiced imposter there in the rubble. There wasn’t really anything they COULD do with him, except wipe his memory, though. She felt as if he were a loose end, one that they’d left to fray their work. She took a moment to think through what it might mean that they’d left him there, bound and unconscious. Someone was bound to find him, and he would eventually wake up. When he was awake, and unbound, he’d be sure to bring news of her escape to SOMEONE, even if it was unlikely that he’d go before Voldemort himself and explain his failure. She had no idea who it was they’d left, but she doubted ANYONE would want to incur the wrath of the snake-faced lord. When he told whoever of her escape, he’d have to explain that he’d been polyjuiced, if they didn’t already know. If it was part of some larger plan to gain the trust of order members, she’d have to be on guard around any other familiar face she saw. They’d need a password. Something they could say aloud to let the other know it was them. It would be faster than reading each other’s minds, and save them loads of wand-pointing, and fronting. However, an audible password risked being overheard. So maybe rotating passwords, that way only an imposter would use the same one they’d used last. It should work, she thought. Now just to come up with something they’d remember. And should they include Shroge on the passwords, or give him his own?</p><p>“Ready to work on the garden?” Shroge’s voice seemed to be summoned straight from her musings, and she opened her eyes, giving their host a smile.</p><p>“Sure. Maybe it’ll help me think.” She agreed easily, following him out the door, and into the soft earth of his yard. “I was thinking, maybe we should use passwords, so we don’t have to worry about being impersonated.” She began, falling easily into conversation with the older man…</p><p>* * *</p><p>“Professor?” Hermione called softly down the stairs, hearing the sounds of boiling water and flickering flames. She could smell the beginning scents of the Polyjuice Potions, the faint aroma of smoke, and soft notes of something floral. She tiptoed down the stairs, rounding the corner for the last quarter of the staircase, and took in the sight of Snape’s quickly set up lab.</p><p>It wasn’t nearly as full or complete as his home lab, or Hogwarts labs had been, but it was unmistakably his workshop. There were three potions in small cauldrons, and she stepped closer, curious about the other two.</p><p>“Professor, dinner’s ready.” She announced, drawing his eyes to her. He was stirring one of the cauldrons, but it wasn’t over any flame, and seemed clear as water. She knew it wasn’t veritaserum, as that took just as long as polyjuice to make, and she looked at the other. “What are those?”</p><p>“That one’s the Polyjuice.” He indicated a potion that looked a bit like boiling dirty bath water. “That one’s veritaserum.” He indicated a pure black potion that looked a bit like ink, the first stage of the truth potion. “And THIS one,” He waved at the potion he was still stirring. “Is finished, and just cooling off a bit.” </p><p>“But what IS it?” She pressed, walking over to the cauldron, and looking inside. Her initial observation of water had been wrong, but not far off. It was clear, but thicker, and was the source of the floral scent. It was just a hint, barely noticeable under the smells of the Polyjuice and wood smoke. </p><p>“It’s a lubricant.” He stated, watching for her reaction. She blinked up at him, unsure what he’d meant. </p><p>“Like… oil? For hinges?” She asked hopefully, though she doubted it. The scent of roses made her think it was for human use. </p><p>“For you.” He confirmed her suspicions. She looked at it, and then at him. She felt a streak of bold sarcasm, and tried to keep her cheeks from reddening as she retorted.</p><p>“You really think that’s necessary?”</p><p>“Absolutely. Not the lubricating factor, surely, but the other ingredients will definitely earn your appreciation.” He assured her. She doubted it, and sniffed again.</p><p>“What are the other ingredients?” She asked, curious.</p><p>“Murtlap essence, rosewater, and a sprinkle of ground paracress buds.” He explained, making her wrinkle her nose.</p><p>“Healing, scent, and stinging? What on EARTH could that good for?” She asked, the last ingredient throwing her completely off.</p><p>“Paracress buds aren’t known for their healing, but mixed with the murtlap, it creates a mild numbing agent, which is perfect if you’re brewing Virgin’s Balm.” He smirked down at her as her face flamed bright red. She opened and closed her mouth several times, unable to form a coherent response. </p><p>“You said dinner is ready?” He prompted, setting the ladle aside, and ushering her back up the stairs, leaving all three potions to sit as he emerged for food.</p><p>Hermione sat at the dinner table, eating mechanically, trying her best to contribute to the conversation Shroge was attempting to lead, but her mind kept going back to the Virgin’s Balm. She knew what it was, but she hadn’t realized WHAT it was when she’d seen it. It was completed, and it brought up a question that had seemed to loom over her for days. Was tonight the night? Would he insist they go that last step and actually make love? Would she let him? Did she really have any objections, now that he’d brewed something for the discomfort or pain she might have otherwise felt? Well, that was more than one question, she thought to herself, but they were all equally pressing. Though most didn’t really quantify if the first was a ‘no’. She couldn’t find a way to tactfully ask in front of Shroge, and as Snape decided tonight was going to be the night he got chatty with the older wizard, she felt herself getting a bit irritated. She wanted to pull him aside, and ask him if he intended to use that potion tonight. But she couldn’t when he seemed to actually be getting along with their host, agreeing easily when Shroge asked to take him up on the offer of brewing him a potion. He’d requested a simple pain-relieving potion, for days when his back started acting up. Finally, there was a lull, and Hermione decided now was as good a time as any to settle at least one of the matters that seemed to be plaguing her.</p><p>“Severus, Shroge and I were thinking about having a password for when someone gets back to the house, so we don’t have to go through the raised wands, ‘prove your identity’ bit every time.” </p><p>“Oh?” He leaned back in his chair, glancing at her with interest. </p><p>“Yes. This afternoon we discussed possible codewords, or phrases, and we decided a question-answer approach was best.” </p><p>“I would agree.” He shrugged. </p><p>“Especially since we might end up coming back polyjuiced as someone else, it will make the identification process go much quicker.”</p><p>Snape just nodded, waiting for her to get to the point.</p><p>“So, whoever’s IN the house, will meet any arrival at the door, and ask ‘What’s your business here?’. Something that doesn’t sound like a password, and perfect for getting an answer to the question, and the wrong reply. If it’s one of us three, we’ll answer, “A day, a night, and a war.” </p><p>“A day, a night, and a war…” Snape repeated the words, and she knew he wasn’t going to forget them. </p><p>“Since You-Know-Who is a powerful legilimens, and some of his Death Eaters are, too, we’ve also decided on a fake password to give, to let the house-sitter know that the imposter isn’t to be trusted.” </p><p>“Are you practiced enough at occlumency to properly give a legilimens false information?” Snape asked dryly, glancing from her, to Shroge.</p><p>“I don’t really plan on leaving the house, but I can do my best if it comes to it.” Shroge replied easily. Hermione just gave Snape a small glare.</p><p>“Yes. I am.” She said, entirely for Shroge’s benefit, since she was sure Severus knew exactly what level her occlumency was at.</p><p>“Well then, what’s the fake password?” He asked, lacing his fingers together atop the table patiently. Hermione tried not to stare too long at his hands. They really were attractive hands, long fingered, slender, neatly trimmed nails.</p><p>“‘The Order of the Phoenix lives.” She said, “So it sounds like it would be a real one, and they won’t guess otherwise.” </p><p>“Smart.” He agreed. “If that’s all, I’ve got to check on my potions before bed.” he stood, gathering dishes to take to the kitchen before he went to the basement. Hermione stood, too, her cheeks tinting pink at the memory of a certain potion. She took the other half of their dishes, and followed him to the kitchen, barely hearing Shroge’s words of thanks. </p><p>“Professor…” She began, looking at his back, clad in black, hair brushing past his shoulders.</p><p>“Yes, Miss Granger?” he turned to face her, leaning against the counter casually, looking as if he didn’t know exactly what she was going to ask.</p><p>“That potion… the Virgin’s Balm.” She said it so quietly, she was sure he had to read the word on her lips. “Are you planning to use that tonight?”</p><p>“No.”</p><p>She almost sighed with both relief and disappointment, until he kept speaking.</p><p>“But I also plan to spend tonight by myself.” he leaned close to her, bringing his face inches from hers. “If you <i>do</i> sneak over to join me again tonight, then yes. I’m going to use the potion.”</p><p>Hermione swallowed, but found herself unable to step back. She wasn’t afraid of him, as she might once have been. She was more than capable of defending herself, he wasn’t sneering viciously, but still, she felt her legs shake slightly with the effort to remain standing. He was leaving it up to her, of course.</p><p>She was still trying to form an answer when he straightened, and walked past her, heading to the door in the living room that would lead him to his lab. She stalked up the stairs, grumbling to herself as she showered, washing the dirt from her nails, using her wand to remove the unwanted hair, and let the water run over her face, trying to make up her mind.</p><p>The problem, she decided, with Severus Snape, wasn’t that he was completely ruining her. It was that he was giving her every opportunity to join him in his depraved little world, holding his hand out, and just waiting for her to join him. Which, in her opinion was far worse. She had no one to be cross with except herself as she brought about her own debasement.</p>
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<a name="section0016"><h2>16. The Good Thing About Mind Readers Is...</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Hermione lay sprawled on her bed, her towel hanging from the doorknob of her closet. She’d heard Severus’s door open and close, and knew he was in there. She was arguing with herself, back and forth, getting nowhere, as her circular debates about Snape usually went. Was she really ready to do this with him? What they’d done so far indicated she wouldn’t mind, but it was also its own situation altogether. But was it really?</p><p>She rolled off of the bed, taking a deep calming breath. After he’d taken the time to brew her the potion, she couldn’t just NOT show up. Even if it was simply to explain why she couldn’t go through with it. She tiptoed across the hall, her bare feet making not a sound on the carpet, and knocked on his door gently. It opened, and she stepped inside, closing it quickly after her. The last thing she’d need was for Shroge to see her standing at his door in barely anything but a thin silk nightgown.</p><p>She froze, looking around the room, awed by the transformation of the space. Nothing had really been changed, but there were white candles flickering, instead of the overhead light, casting an orange glow on the whole room, rose petals scattered across the floor and bed, and Snape, standing before her, wearing his usual black, but not at all intimidating. It was like something out of a fantasy, she thought. Or a romance novel. She looked up at him, sputtering a bit, trying to form a question.</p><p>“I’ve been in your head enough to know what you thought this night would be like. If it makes you happy, I’m more than willing to cater to your fantasies.” He explained, smirking at her in a way that made her stomach jerk. She looked around the romantic scene, feeling tears prick her eyes. It was exactly how she’d imagined it looking, though the more experience she’d gained with Snape, the more she realized it had been just that. Pure fantasy, and not likely to be accurate.</p><p>“You’re just trying to make me pliant, so I’ll go along with this.” She teased, forcing humor through the wash of emotions that was filling her. But he was staring into her eyes, and could likely tell exactly how overwhelmed she was by his gesture. </p><p>“I don’t need to make you pliant, you’ve already made your mind up.” He said, full of confidence, stepping towards her. His hands rested comfortably on her hips, and she found her arms twining around his neck, even as they bantered.</p><p>“And what makes you think I’ve decided anything?” </p><p>“You came in here after I told you my intentions. You’re not demanding I retreat so we can discuss this superfluously. You’re wearing a nightdress that just begs to be peeled off and left in a fancy pile on the floor…” He trailed off, his fingers skimming toward the rather short hem of the nightgown she’d transfigured just for this. For him. She bit her lip, her cheeks heating at the thought that any second now, he’d discover that she wasn’t wearing anything else. </p><p>He bent to kiss her, muddling her thoughts, and pulled her farther into the room. He pulled her right onto his lap as he sat on the edge of the bed, one thigh on either side of his, his hands gripping her bare skin, sliding up, and squeezing her bum gently. She let her fingers find his hair, combing through the slightly damp locks. She could already feel his erection pressing up through his trousers, and she tilted her hips, grinding gently against him. A low groan echoed out of his throat as he kissed his way down the length of her neck, and she slid her hands from his hair, down to his chest, fumbling with his buttons. Her fingers were shaking slightly, but one after the other, the buttons down his front popped open, and exposed his chest, and when every button had been yanked free, she pushed the sleeves from his arms, and tossed the material aside. She let her hands wander over his skin, feeling the hardness of muscle underneath. </p><p>He seemed to be touching just as much of her, letting his hands wander, exploring her waist, rubbing against the stiffening peaks of her nipples, brushing her hair back so he could nip at her collarbone. He seemed to be surrounding her, his hands everywhere, his lips distracting, and when he pulled her against him, and stood, she barely noticed. He turned, and laid her out on the bed, kneeling above her, his lips never leaving her skin as he pushed her thighs apart, and settled between them. She brushed his silky black hair from his face, and pulled his lips back to hers. All intelligent thoughts had stopped, and all she could manage to comprehend was that she wanted this, and he was still wearing far too many clothes for that to happen. She had his pants undone much quicker than his shirt, and pushed them down his hips impatiently. He slid out of them easily, leaving himself bare as the day he was born, holding himself above her. She could feel the slightly bobbing weight of his shaft against her thigh, and pulled his hips toward hers, needing the friction that would bring her to climax. He acquiesced, entirely happy to pleasure them both with the action.</p><p>“Please tell me you want this. It would be torture to have to leave you now.” He whispered against her lips, sliding his shaft in long strokes along her most sensitive nerves. </p><p>“I want this.” She panted back, her fingers scraping at his back slightly as he pulled away, anyway. He leaned even farther over her, the head of his cock trailing up her belly a bit as he stretched to reach the small bottle on the nightstand. She watched as he sat up a bit, bottle in hand, cock pulsing with his heartbeat, hair disheveled from her grabbing it. She couldn’t really tell why they’d thought he was ugly as children, or so sour. He seemed like a raven-haired god, kneeling between her legs, confident that he’d please her. Even though he’d seemed desperate to find his own release just moments ago, when she met his eyes, all she could see was herself. He had a very firm idea of what he wanted to do to her, how he was going to make her writhe, how to keep her from feeling uncomfortable, and an amazing grasp on what she must be feeling, even though he could barely read her thoughts in the flickering candlelight.</p><p>She found herself unwilling to protest as he adjusted his position, getting comfortable between her legs, his face close enough she could feel his breath against her thighs. She heard the quiet pop of the bottle being uncorked, and closed her eyes, trying not to focus on the contents, or what was coming, or exactly what the plan was. It was better, she’d found, to simply get swept away.</p><p>The feel of his mouth kissing along her thigh made her gasp, and she felt each press of his lips, each subtle swipe of his tongue with mounting anticipation as he came closer and closer to the apex of her need. She wanted this. She needed this.</p><p>His tongue was skilled as he finally kissed her sex, and when he added a finger, a moan slid from her mouth. She felt the slight stretch as he added another finger, pumping them into that perfect spot, his tongue sweeping her into a quick orgasm as she clutched at his hair, her back arching off the bed.</p><p>“I love how easy it is to make you cum.” He growled, kissing his way up her stomach, pushing the thin fabric of her nightgown up, until he’d exposed her breasts to his ministrations. She couldn’t form a reply as he suckled and nipped at first one nipple, then the other, his fingers still sliding in and out of her slowly. When he pulled his fingers free, she groaned at the loss, wanting him to continue pleasuring her until she turned into a formless puddle, but he paused, his eyes staring down into her as the much larger promise of his cock pressed against her entrance instead.</p><p>“Tell me what you want, Hermione.” He panted, his eyes taking in her face, the slight part of her lips, the flush of her cheeks, her bright, yet hazy eyes. </p><p>“I want you.” She breathed, trying to pick from his thoughts what he wanted her to say. It wasn’t easy, she was too unfocused, and his mind was too hectic, a mishmash of sensations and desires all running together to confuse with her own.</p><p>“What do you want me to do?” He teased, rubbing the head of his member up and down, muddling her thoughts even more. She wasn’t afraid this time, she knew it shouldn’t hurt. She was more than okay with losing her virginity to this man. But what was he asking for?</p><p>“I want you to make love to me.” She demanded breathily, pulling him in for a kiss. He kissed her gently, appeasing her request, and she felt the strangest, most pleasurable sensation. He was sliding into her, she could feel the unfamiliar stretch of something so large, but there wasn’t even a tingle of discomfort. With one easy movement, she was no longer a virgin. She gasped against his lips as he kept filling her, well beyond where his fingers had stopped, making her feel full in a new way. </p><p>“Does it hurt at all?” He asked, finally stopping, his hips pressed to her thighs. She shook her head, unable to form words. It was the strangest feeling, having so much of him inside of her, it brought more meaning to the word ‘intimate’. When he kissed her again, she could feel him roll his hips, both against her legs, and her inner walls. She gasped as he moved slowly, trying to categorize the shockwaves that seemed to resonate from the movement. He kissed her again, a slow deep kiss that matched the pace of his hips. </p><p>With only a few thrusts, she felt herself reaching that peak again, shaking slightly against him as he kept up a steady pace. His lips pressed into her throat as she came, delivering whisper soft kisses to her warm skin. She didn’t realize she was making mewling noises until his lips found hers again, muffling the sound. She was clutching onto his shoulders, hair, back. Anything she could to anchor herself to the mortal world as she was swept away on an unbelievable wave of feeling.</p><p>Severus shifted, leaning more to one side, freeing an arm from his weight, so he could pull his hand in, massaging her breast, rolling the stiff nipple between his fingers. She could feel his breath on her again, the warmth of his skin against hers, and the slight damp of sweat. The way he’d shifted changed how his thrusts felt, and her eyes rolled closed, leaving her with only the feeling of him against her, inside her, surrounding her. </p><p>Her mind felt scrambled, and suddenly, he was going faster, making her world implode into another wave of numbing pleasure, until he finally slowed, and stopped, simply lying atop her, breathing heavily, nuzzling the side of her neck.</p><p>“Are… are you finished?” She panted, a bit disappointed, daring to wiggle her hips against his, enticing more from him. </p><p>“I’m close, but no… not finished. Not even close to finished.” He growled, sliding his hands under her, and rolled onto his back, pulling her atop him easily, though his manhood slipped out, as he shifted, leaving her straddling his hips, his erection lying against his belly, just underneath her. She stared down at him, the straining cock that twitched under her gaze, the pale skin covered in a sheen of sweat, his arms outstretched so his hands rested on her hips. He looked like the embodiment of male sexuality, and she couldn’t help the smile that stretched her lips as she met his eyes. She wanted him, and he knew it. She knew exactly what he wanted, too. </p><p>She took his shaft in hand, and held it in place, lowering herself onto it, relishing the satisfying feeling of him inside her. He was staring transfixed as she impaled herself on him, eyes darting between his disappearing cock, and her twisting expression. He seemed to be content to simply lie there, and watch her enjoy herself on top of him. His scrutiny made her face heat with a self-conscious blush, but she couldn’t bring herself to look away from him. With every small movement of her hips, his expression would change, just so slightly, his fingers would squeeze her hips when he particularly enjoyed a movement, and his blazing eyes made her feel bold, and beautiful. </p><p>Hermione rested her hands on his chest, using his body as leverage to bounce slightly up and down on top of him. This pulled a groan from him, and a triumphant, breathy chuckle from her as she brought him that much closer to his own climax. It was a strange power she felt, bringing him off by simply indulging her own pleasure, having him at her mercy as she slowed to a teasing movement. She loved the way his hips bucked, trying to keep the ecstasy going as Hermione tormented him. She loved the way his eyes fell closed, and he growled quietly, his hands skimmed down her thighs. She loved the way he seemed to know exactly what  it took to get her worked back into a frenzy, his fingers delving between them to coerce another climax from her, and the irritating way her hips bucked back and forth seemed to be exactly what he’d wanted as her involuntary movements drew him toward his own edge. He flipped her roughly back to the bed, kissing her mindlessly as his hips snapped fiercely against hers. </p><p>Hermione savored the weight of him over her as he finally rested, his breathing hard, his shoulders trembling slightly as he held himself up just enough to let her breathe. She let her fingers rake through his hair, memorizing the dampness from the sweat, the sound of his overworked breathing, and the warmth of his skin against hers. </p><p>Severus rolled to the side, heaving a sigh of satisfaction while he propped his head up on his arm, looking down at the thoroughly shagged witch under his other arm. He was pleased with the way she looked, with his possessive limb as her only covering, cheeks flushed, and lips reddened from his kisses. </p><p>Hermione rolled into the embrace, hiding from his thoughts in his chest, and borrowing his warmth to stave of the sudden chill that was creeping across her bare skin. She could feel his face press into the top of her head, and then, to her embarrassment, she felt a warmth trickle down the back of her thigh. She pulled away, her face burning, as she tried to think of a way to politely excuse herself to the toilet. </p><p>She made the mistake of meeting his eyes, her flaming flace, awkwardly placed arms as she sat up, and firmly held together legs, seemed to give away exactly what she was trying to hide.</p><p>“You won’t conceive, the Virgin’s Balm prevents it.” He said, drawing the wrong conclusion, his hand trying to pull her gently back down. She pulled further away, her face feeling as if it were on fire, unable to meet his eyes again.</p><p>“I know. I’d still like to erm… clean up a bit.” She muttered, scooting away, and scanning the floor for her nightgown. No way was she walking to the loo starkers, with semen dripping down her thighs. </p><p>“Don’t bother.” His voice was serene, calming, despite her sudden humiliation. “There are spells we can use when we’re done.” </p><p>“Like <i>scourgify</i>?” She asked, curious, before the oddness of his words registered. “Are we not done?”</p><p>“Just catching my breath. I’m not as young as I once was, but I’ll be damned if that’s all I have in me.” He smirked, making her giggle nervously. “Not <i>scourgify</i>, but I will teach you.” He promised, finally managing to drag her into his chest. “There are a few other things I want to teach you, first, though.” </p><p>She looked up at him, feeling a small curl of worry in her belly.</p><p>“Was it not… good?” She asked, not sure if she should sound more offended than hurt.</p><p>“You were fantastic. But I was holding back, to cater to your fantasy. Now, however, I think I’ll cater to one or two of my own.” It sounded more like a warning than a promise, and she shivered against him, swallowing nervously at the thought of the many fantasies he might pull inspiration from. </p><p>It was looking to be a much longer night than she anticipated, but as she looked up into his onyx stare, she couldn’t find one thing that would scare her off anytime soon.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>That's all for this one, guys!! </p><p> </p><p>I've had comments before about the end feeling rather abrupt, and I agree, but after rewriting it five times, trying to get one more chapter in, this was really the best outcome, especially with other stories to work on! <br/>I'm so sorry for not being able to give you more of Snape and Hermione's story in-depth, but if you want more snippets of them, and the stories of different characters within this AU ('Unforseen Lives' series), there are two more installments in this series that you will be able to find on my page! </p><p>The next, chronologically, is 'The Hole'.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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